Scarlatina
by PsychedelicCowgirl
Summary: Bret had heard for years that it was his responsibility to look after his brother. Since Mama had died he sometimes wished Bart didn't need quite so much looking after, but he hadn't meant it when he said he was tired of looking out for Bart. He hadn't really meant it when he wished he didn't have to anymore. A young Mavericks story.
1. Late Again

"You have to watch out for him, Bret. It's your job now that you're a big brother." Those were the words Mama had told him the first time Bret Maverick had laid eyes on his baby brother, Bart. Similar words were spoken shortly before she died, and after the funeral his pappy had told him almost the same thing. Bret had taken those words to heart every time he'd heard them and he'd done his best to do exactly that for the last seven years, especially since Mama had died.

Things had been hard since they had lost Mama. Pappy was . . . well, Pappy was different now. He was quieter and more distant than he had been when Mama had been alive. He had gotten some better, the first few months it had been as though Pappy wasn't even there, but the Pappy Bret had known and loved seemed to have died with Mama. He was still there when he was really needed, but otherwise Bret felt like he was supposed to take care of everything, at least where Bart was concerned. Bret didn't mind taking care of his brother. He didn't even mind that Pappy expected him to take care of Bart. But sometimes, taking care of things was harder than it was at other times, and one area that had become particularly difficult of late was school.

Because Pappy played poker professionally, he often put them to bed at night and then went into town, returning sometime in the early morning hours. This meant he was usually sound asleep when it was time for them to get up. So, it fell to Bret to get himself and Bart up, dressed, and to school on time. It had never been easy, Mavericks, even the young ones, weren't morning people, but Bret had always managed. Until lately anyway. A new teacher had come this year and she wasn't as understanding about the somewhat unorthodox lifestyle the Mavericks lead as their previous teacher had been. Particularly about the fact that two young boys more or less seeing to themselves sometimes ran a little late. Just like today.

Bret silently blew out a breath and tried to concentrate on the assignment he'd been given, but it was difficult. He knew this day was going to end badly. This morning, just like so many others, they had been late, strolling into the schoolroom a good twenty minutes after lessons had started. Miss Potter had watched Bart and Beau go by and then given him a look. That look had told Bret everything he needed to know, the woman wasn't going to simply let their lateness go today.

Giving up on finishing the work he'd been given, Bret started to think of some way to avoid Miss Potter this afternoon. It wouldn't be easy, there weren't that many children in Little Bend, but there were enough to make a small crowd when Miss Potter dismissed them. Since Bret was nearer the back of the room, he was sure he could slip out before Miss Potter had a chance to jump on him; the problem was his cousin and his brother. Beau sat two seats in front of him and Bart was even further up. It wouldn't be as easy for them to slip out, but if he could get Beau to grab Bart they might be able to pull it off. If only he could get Beau's attention.

He tried to look over at his cousin without looking like he was trying to look at his cousin, hoping Beau would turn around. Beau was so absorbed in what he was doing however, his eyes never left his desk. He could always try Bart. Bret let his eyes drift to his teacher. At the moment, she was on the girl's side helping Rachel. Feeling sure he wouldn't be seen, Bret leaned out of his seat some so he could see Bart. His brother looked just as preoccupied as Beau. Frustrated, he went back to Beau, staring intently at the back of his head. _Look at me_ , he thought. _Please, Beau, just turn around and look at me_.

"Bret?"

Bret almost jumped out of his skin when he felt the hand on his shoulder. He jerked his head around to find Miss Potter standing beside him. "I'd like a word with you after class."

Bret felt a knot settle in his stomach. So much for a quick getaway. "Yes, ma'am."

Smiling some Miss Potter went back to the front of the room. Bret sighed as he watched her go. This was not going to end well. Feeling someone's eyes on him, Bret looked up and found his cousin staring at him questioningly. Bret shook his head some and gave a pointed glance towards Miss Potter. Understanding dawned in Beau's eyes. _Now you look at me_ , Bret thought bitterly as his cousin turned back around.

After class was dismissed, Bret remained by his desk, waiting for the room to clear. He couldn't help but feel just a little envious as he watched Beau grab Bart's arm and pull him out of the room. It was at times like this he wished he wasn't the oldest; wished it was Beau or Bart stuck with having to have this talk with their teacher. As no one wanted to stay in the school room any longer than need be, the place was soon empty and Bret made his way to the front of the room. "Ma'am," he said approaching Miss Potter's desk.

The teacher looked up at him with a sigh. "Bret, I think we need to talk about your continued lateness."

Bret had known what she was going to say, but he grimaced just the same. "I'm sorry, Miss Potter. It won't happen again."

"It's happened every day this week, Bret. I could overlook it if it was only every now and again, but it happened twice last week, three times the week before, and countless other times since school has started." Bret studied the floor as she spoke. "I'm afraid I have no choice but to meet with your father to discuss the situation."

Bret blew out a breath. He did not want that to happen. "Miss Potter…" he trailed off not knowing what to say. Pappy would not be happy if he had to see Miss Potter. For some reason, Pappy had a strong dislike for her. "Pappy doesn't . . . he – he doesn't . . . ." Bret stopped again. Miss Potter was from New England, and Bret knew things were different there than they were here in Texas. How was he supposed to explain Pappy or the way they lived to someone like his teacher?

"Bret, is there something you need to tell me?"

"Ma'am?"

"Is there a problem at home? With your father?"

Bret shook his head. "No Ma'am. It's just . . . well, Pappy plays poker."

"Yes, I know," she replied tersely. Martha Potter was young, idealistic, and fresh from Massachusetts. She had met Beauregard Maverick on two occasions and neither one had left her with a good impression of the man. Her general opinion was that the Maverick patriarch was bad-tempered and irresponsible. How could someone actually earn a living by playing poker? And what kind of environment was that for a child to grow up in? Truthfully, she felt sorry for all three of the boys but especially Bret and Bart. Beau's father was a gambler too, but her view of him wasn't as negative. He was certainly the more personable of the two brothers and seemed more together than Beauregard. She felt confident that if she could get the problem with Bret and Bart worked out, the problem with Beau would be automatically settled.

"You see," Bret continued. "He goes out most nights to play and it's usually late when gets back so . . . he sleeps in a lot."

Miss Potter smiled sadly. "I do see." She passed him an envelope. "Would you please give that to your father?"

Bret couldn't stop himself from wincing. Notes from school were bad. Really bad. "Yes, ma'am."

"Bret," she called as he started to walk away. "Please, try to arrive on time tomorrow."

Bret nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

xxxxxx

"What did Miss Potter want?" Beau asked as they walked home.

"It was about us being late again. She wrote Pappy a note." Beau's eyes widened at the last part and even Bart took notice.

"Pappy won't like that," Bart said, his statement ending with a cough. Bret nodded vaguely; that was putting it mildly. After a minute of silence, Bart lost interest in his brother's problem and ran ahead a little ways.

"Where's the letter?" Beau asked after a while. Bret pulled the envelope his teacher had given him out and showed his cousin. "Are you going to read it?" was Beau's next question.

Bret looked at his cousin sharply. "No!"

"Why? It ain't sealed. Don't you want to know what it says?"

Bret stared at the envelope address to his father feeling torn. He shouldn't read it. It was addressed to Pappy and Bret didn't even want to think about what Pappy's reaction would be if he found out Bret had sneaked around and read what was meant for him. On the other hand, Beau was right, it wasn't sealed and he was actually dying to know what the teacher wanted to say to his pappy. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "You won't tell anybody?"

"No," Beau said sounding insulted Bret would even ask.

Bret still didn't feel right about it but he found himself nodding anyway. "Come on." He ran up ahead to where there was a large boulder by the road. Dropping the rest of his things, Bret settled on the rock, Beau and Bart flanking him. Bret started to open the envelope and then stopped. "Not a word," he reminded Beau, who nodded solemnly as he shook his dark blond hair from his eyes. He then turned his attention to his younger brother. "Bart, you can't tell anybody about this. Not Pappy or Uncle Ben or anybody. Understand?" Bart also nodded. "Promise?"

"I promise," Bart said, his voice cracking slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Bret slid the letter out of the envelope. "Can you read it?" Bart asked uncertainly, scooting closer as he eyed his teacher's flowing script. Bret nodded. "Well, what's it say?"

Another deep breath. "Mr. Maverick, over the last several weeks a situation has arisen that I believe should be addressed. Numerous times throughout this period, Bret and Bartley hav…"

"Did she really call me Bartley?" Bart suddenly broke in.

"Yes."

"Where?" Bart asked leaning in further over his brother's shoulder. Bret pointed to his brother's name. Bart scowled when he saw his full name written out. He hated being called Bartley. Only Pappy, Uncle Ben, and, on occasion, Bret could get away with calling him that. "Why don't anybody ever call you or Beau by your whole names?" Bart demanded.

"I don't know. Now hush and let me finish." Bart's scowl deepened but he didn't say anything else. Bret scanned the letter looking for his place again. "…Bret and Bartley have arrived well after the start of class. Not only does their . . ." Bret squinted, leaning in closer to make out his teacher's writing. ". . . be – behind – hand . . . behindhand."

Again Bart interrupted. "What's that mean?"

Bret shrugged. "Last I guess."

"Why didn't she say late?"

"Because she's from Boston," Beau chimed in.

"Does everybody in Boston talk like that?"

"Yes," Beau stated as though he was an absolute authority.

"How do you know?" Bart demanded.

"Do y'all want hear this or not?" Bret broke in.

Bart fell silent and Beau nodded.

Bret had to look for his place again. "Not only does their behindhand behavior disrupt the pupils who do arrive on time, but I fear they are harming their own education as well. As this has become a habit, I should like to speak with you about what could be changed to help the boys avoid this in the future." Bret sighed as he finished. He didn't feel guilty about reading the letter anymore; he was too busy being worried for any guilt. Pappy was not going to like this.

"Does that mean she wants Pappy to come to school?" Bart asked looking between his brother and his cousin, waiting for one of them to give him an answer.

Beau finally responded. "That's exactly what it means."

"But Pappy don't like Miss Potter," Bart said before coughing a couple of more times. Bret tucked the note back in his pocket and didn't reply.

"What are you gonna do?" Beau asked.

Bret shrugged. "Give it to Pappy. Nothin' else I can do." He sighed again and stood, starting back down the road towards the Maverick ranch without looking to see if Beau and Bart were following. It had been nearly two years since they had lost Mama and Bret had wished many times since then that she was still here, but he was really wishing it now. They wouldn't have this problem if Mama were still alive.

When they got back home, Beau and Bart ran off toward the creek that ran a little behind the house. Bret would have liked nothing better than to join them, but he had something else to do. He was the "big brother" and Miss Potter had placed this on him. "Pappy," he called when he entered the house.

"In here," came the reply from the kitchen.

Bret entered the small room and found Pappy at the stove making a pot of coffee. He briefly wondered just how long Pappy had been up.

"Hey, boy," Pappy said glancing at him as he came into the room.

Bret swallowed hard, again feeling the burden of being the oldest. "Pappy . . . ."

Beauregard turned to his son and looked at him closer. "Somethin' wrong?" Bret's eyes fell and he shifted on his feet some. "Bret?"

Reluctantly, Bret pulled the note from his pocket. "Miss Potter sent a note home."

Pappy's eyes hardened. Having a note sent home usually wasn't a good thing. "What happened?" he demanded.

Bret sighed. "We were late today . . . again." Forcing himself to look up Bret offered the envelope to his father.

"How late?" Pappy wanted to know as he took the note.

"Not very. The first lesson wasn't over yet."

Pappy quickly scanned the note, his brows furrowing as he did. After a minute he tossed the envelope and letter on the table and took a deep breath. "Where's Beau and Bart," he finally asked.

"They went down to the creek."

"Go on out with them," Beauregard told his son, nodding towards the door. "We'll be going over to Ben's soon so stay close."

"Yes, sir." Bret started towards the door, pausing half-way through it. "Pappy?"

"What?"

"About school. . ."

"Go outside, Bret."

Bret knew a dismissal when he heard it; Pappy wasn't interested in listening to any explanations right now. As he went down to the creek to meet up with his brother and cousin, Bret tried to think of some way out of this problem. He had to think of something, he just had to.


	2. Another Strike

Sometime right before dark Pappy called them in so they could go over to Uncle Ben's. Most nights they ate with Uncle Ben, it only made sense and Pappy wasn't inclined to try and put together a meal when Ben was willing to feed them.

The evening meal went much as it always did, with no one realizing the turmoil Bret was in. Pappy didn't say anything about the note Bret had brought home and since Pappy didn't seem upset neither Bart nor Beau was bothered, and Uncle Ben didn't know anything about it. It was only Bret thinking about Miss Potter's words this afternoon, and only him who was suffering any worry over them.

After supper, the boys were sent into the sitting room where Beau and Bart happily took up some game with a deck of cards. Bret wasn't sure what they were doing and the longer he watched the more he was convinced they didn't either. The rules seemed to change as they went along to whatever suited them at the time. Some other time Bret might have joined in and tried to puzzle out the younger boys objective and maybe changed a few rules of his own, but he was too focused on his talk with Miss Potter this afternoon to deal with Bart, Beau, and their made up game. Instead, he got another pack of Uncle Ben's cards and tried to play Maverick Solitaire. Maverick Solitaire was the first game Pappy had ever taught him to play, and he almost always won it. He soon found that Miss Potter's words wouldn't leave him, though and it was too hard to concrete on what he was supposed to be doing. After three deals, he still hadn't won a game and Bret gave up. Bart and Beau were now involved in a deep and slightly heated debate concerning whatever it was they were playing so Bret slipped out of the room. Quietly, he went over to the edge of the kitchen where Pappy and Uncle Ben were still sitting and talking. Talking about no less than the note Bret had brought home.

"Well, the bat can request a meeting all she wants. Doesn't mean she's going to get it," Pappy stated hotly.

Ben sighed. "Beauregard…"

"Ben, I am not going to that school so that . . . that . . .

"Woman?"

" _Female_. . . can tell me how I'm supposed to be raising my children."

"It's not personal."

Pappy snorted. "Course it's not."

"She's doing her job, Beauregard. Just explain that the boys…"

"How many notes have you gotten? That's what I thought." Bret scooted closer, wondering what Ben had said. He hadn't heard an answer. "It's not about the boys, Ben," Pappy continued. "It's me. I swear some of those women think I keep them around because I don't have anything better to do."

"I doubt that's true."

"Beau's always with them, Ben. If this were really about them, she'd be bangin' your door down too."

"Pap-py!" Bart suddenly yelled from the sitting room.

Bret jumped at the unexpected cry. He had been so intent on the conversation between his father and his uncle he'd almost forgotten about Bart and Beau. The youngest Maverick soon came running past Bret, Beau on his heels. Bret followed as both boys darted into the kitchen. "Pappy, Beau's not playing right!" Bart whined, giving his cousin a dirty look.

"That's 'cause he keeps changing' the rules," Beau shot back.

"What happened?" Ben asked turning to Bret.

Bret offered a half-shrug. He wasn't about to admit to Uncle Ben that he hadn't seen anything because he'd been in the hall listening to what he and Pappy were saying. Besides, nothing had probably happened. Bart had just been whiny all day. At least twice when they'd been at the creek earlier Bart had accused Beau of doing something or other to him. Bret was pretty sure nothing had happened then too.

"I think it's getting late," Beauregard said, getting to his feet. He didn't see this spat between the boys improving tonight. "Let's go home, boys."

"But, Pappy, he's cheating!"

"I am not!"

"Hey!" Beauregard said sharply. He picked Bart up so the boy's eyes were even with his own. "Don't call your cousin a cheater."

Bart looked momentarily abashed, but his pout was soon back in place. "He is," he mumbled, the words followed by a cough.

"Am not!" the younger Beau fired back. He looked up at his father. "He's just being a baby."

"I'm not a baby!" Bart protested. Just like earlier, his voice cracked some on the last word.

"Hush," Ben told his son, lightly cuffing the boy's shoulder before nodding his agreement to his brother's previous statement. "It's getting late." Both the elder Mavericks knew that whatever grievance had been dealt Bart, it would be forgotten by morning, by both boys.

"Ready, Bret?" Pappy asked. Bart was still on Pappy's hip and still looking miffed about whatever had happened. Bret nodded. "Night, Ben. Let's go." He gave Bret a nudge towards the door.

"Night, boys," Ben told them.

The ride from Uncle Ben's to home was less than a mile, but when Pappy pulled into the yard Bart was fast asleep. When a gentle nudge didn't wake him, Pappy picked him up and carried him to the bedroom _. 'I'm glad Pappy's taking care of him tonight'_ , Bret thought as he followed behind. ' _Means I won't have to'_. As soon as the thought popped into his head Bret felt guilty about it. He'd never thought anything like that before. Bart was his brother; he was supposed to take care of him. Wasn't he?

Once in the bedroom Bret started getting himself ready for bed while Pappy tucked Bart in. There was another bedroom just across the hall almost identical to Bret's. Bart had been in there at one time but for now it was empty. Shortly after Mama had died, Bart had started having nightmares and had often left his room in the middle of the night seeking comfort from his brother. That comfort always included Bart spending the rest of the night in bed with Bret. After several weeks of that being a nightly occurrence, Pappy had moved Bart's bed into Bret's room and it had been that way ever since. Occasionally, Bret would grumble about Bart still sleeping in his room but honestly he didn't mind sharing with Bart; in fact he kind of liked having his brother nearby. Not that he would ever say that.

After settling Bart in, Pappy came over and squatted beside Bret's bed. "You've been pretty quiet tonight," he said.

"Just thinkin'."

"What about?"

"I'm sorry you got trouble with Miss Potter now."

Pappy gave him a look and Bret had a feeling his father knew he'd been listening. "It's not your problem, son. I'll work it out."

"But she said she wanted to talk to you and . . ."

"You just go to sleep and don't worry about it."

Bret sighed. Maybe Pappy didn't think it was his problem but Bret certainly felt like it was. And he was the one that was going to have to face Miss Potter tomorrow. He just needed to get up earlier, that was all. He just had to try harder. If they were on time tomorrow maybe Miss Potter would change her mind about seeing Pappy, then they could all be happy. "I wish Miss Evens was still teaching us," Bret mumbled wistfully.

"Mmmm," was all Pappy said. What Bret didn't know was Beauregard wished the same thing. Lily Evens was a sweet young thing, and a homegrown Texas girl, the kind of teacher Little Bend needed. Not some New England upstart who didn't understand how things worked here. Lily had always been agreeable to both him and the boys, and she hadn't minded making some allowances every once in a while for his somewhat unconventional lifestyle. Like the boys being a few minutes late every now and then. But a young woman like Lily hadn't stayed a schoolmarm long. She'd left at the end of the year to marry one of Sam Johnson's boys and become a respectable rancher's wife. Then Potter the witch had swept in. Unless Martha Potter had a late husband no one knew about, and a couple of kids hidden somewhere, she had no idea what it was like trying to bring children up alone. And Beauregard rather resented what he saw as Miss Potter making a slight on how he handled his boys. "Like I said, it's not for you to concern yourself with. Now go to sleep."

"Are you going out tonight?" Bret asked.

Beau nodded. "For a while."

"Okay." Bret really wished Pappy would stay home. If he didn't go out, chances were good that he would get up before they had to leave. He had a few times in the past anyway. Most of the time if Pappy was up before they left for school it was because he hadn't gone to bed yet but either way, it was always easier to get Bart out the door when Pappy was around.

"I'll be home before mornin'; just like always. You won't even know I'm not here." Bret only nodded. "Bret, this is my job. I have to go."

"I know." Pappy being gone really wasn't what was concerning him; he'd been doing that Bret's whole life. It was tomorrow morning he was worried about. Getting Bart up, getting them something to eat; getting them to school before Miss Potter rang the bell.

Pappy smiled. "I'll see you in the morning, alright."

It wouldn't be morning, it would likely be after school before Pappy saw them but Bret nodded. "Night, Pappy."

"Good night, son." With that Pappy turned the lamp down and left the room.

As he lay in the darkness and tried to go to sleep, Bret promised himself that tomorrow, they wouldn't be late. They couldn't be.

xxxxxx

Despite Bret's best efforts, the next morning wasn't any better than the rest of the week had been. They hadn't been as late, but they had still been late and Bret plainly saw the disappointment in Miss Potter's eyes when they entered the school room. He didn't even wait for her to say anything to him; when lunch time came he just stayed in his seat and waited, knowing she would want to talk with him again.

"I'm sorry," he said when she approached him after everyone else had gone outside. "I tried not to be late. I really did." It had been all Bart's fault really. He'd been ready on time; Beau had gotten there on time, but Bart . . . . It had taken him two tries to get Bart out of bed this morning, and once he was up he'd moved slow as molasses. It had taken him forever to get dressed and even though Bret had been fussing at him, he'd drug his feet during the entire walk to school. There weren't many times Bret got truly upset with his brother, but he had been this morning. He'd also been a little mad at Pappy when he went by his bedroom and saw him sleeping while he tried to get Bart to move.

Miss Potter set down in the seat in front of Bret and gave him that kind of sad smile again. "Bret, did you give your father the note I gave you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did he say anything about it?" she asked when Bret didn't add anything to his answer.

Bret dropped his eyes. Miss Potter was expecting some kind of reply from Pappy he was sure, but what could he say? Pappy hadn't said anything to him. All he had said as what Bret had heard him tell Uncle Ben last night, and Bret didn't really think he needed to tell her Pappy had called her a bat and said she wasn't getting her meeting. "No, ma'am." Bret reckoned that in this instance, a little lie was better than the truth.

Miss Potter sighed. "I see." Had it been anyone else she might have thought the note had never been delivered, but Bret had never given her any cause to doubt him. He was very responsible for nine; she had seen firsthand how he looked out for his younger brother and cousin, and apart from being unable to walk through the door on time he had never given her any trouble. That went for Beau and Bart too. It was a mystery to her how they had all turned out so sweet living with the men they did, but although their fathers may have been lacking in moral fiber, all three boys were polite and well behaved. They also appeared to be well cared for. She'd never seen them without lunch, their clothes were always clean and in good condition, and they all looked healthy and happy. If only she could get the Maverick men to care about their children's education too. "Well, why don't you go on outside and eat."

Bret was surprised that she didn't say anything else, but he wasn't going to complain. Nor was he going to give her a chance to change her mind. "Thank you, Miss Potter," he said jumping from his seat and running out the door.

Martha Potter watched him go and sighed again. If Beauregard Maverick wouldn't be civilized about this, she'd have to think of something else.


	3. If Wishes Were Horses

As if Bret's trouble with Miss Potter wasn't bad enough, Bart's whiny mood was still firmly in place. Just like yesterday, Bart was quiet and broody and if he did talk it was complain about something. Most of Bart's complaints were about something Beau had done to him, although Bret had yet to see Beau actually _do_ anything. Between his teacher's displeasure, Bart's whining, and still being a little put out with Bart about making them late again Bret was more than ready for supper when it came around. At least at supper Pappy could put with Bart's moodiness for a while.

Bret had been thinking about his latest encounter with Miss Potter since lunch. He wasn't sure whether or not he needed to bother telling Pappy about talking with the teacher again. The whole thing had seemed to put Pappy on edge yesterday, and based on what Bret had heard his father say to Uncle Ben last night, Pappy had no intention of doing what Miss Potter had asked. In light of that, Bret wasn't sure Pappy would really care about Miss Potter being perturbed that he hadn't responded to her request. Bart eventually decided to keep the talk to himself and see how tomorrow went. He was now more determined than ever that they arrive on time, even if he had to drag Bart there half naked.

After supper, the boys again found themselves in the sitting room so Pappy and Ben could talk about whatever it was they talked about when they sent them off to play. In the summer, they would have retreated outside to do something, but this time of year "go play" more or less meant poker. The three boys gathered around Uncle Ben's designated poker table and began a game of stud, card wise anyway. When it was just the three of them they usually didn't bet, playing "real" poker was saved for when the elder Maverick's joined them. But that was only because, as of yet, none of them had been able to figure out where Ben hid the bag of pennies they used for those games. Why Uncle Ben kept them hidden wasn't clear either, but Bret had a long ago surmised Ben must put them somewhere different every time they played.

For the next half-hour or so, things passed peacefully. Bret and Beau won every hand, but surprisingly Bart didn't complain. Bret finally took note of his brother's lack of success. Based on their age, he and Beau might have been a little better but only a tiny bit. Neither of them was so advanced that Bart never won. Honestly, Bret wondered if Bart was even trying.

"You feelin' alright," Bret asked when Bart lost yet another hand.

"Yes," Bart growled before he started coughing.

"I'm not cheatin'" Beau stated flatly.

"I didn't say you was," Bart snapped, another cough being the result of the hastily spoken words.

"Nobody said you did, Bart," Bret said shooting Beau a look as he attempted to smooth things over. Beau obviously hadn't forgotten about Bart's accusation the night before, and Bart was obviously still mad about Pappy getting on to him during supper because of his surly attitude. "Do you want to deal?" he asked offering Bart the cards. Bart shook his head.

They played two more hands before Bart pushed his cards away. "I don't wanna play anymore."

"Why?" Bret asked keeping his voice as friendly as possible. Even if he was in a bad mood, it wasn't like Bart to not want to play poker.

Bart coughed. "Just don't wanna play." Sliding from his chair, Bart went over to the settee and curled up in the corner of it.

Beau gave Bret a what's-going-on look. Bret just shrugged. He didn't know what Bart's problem was, but he was kind of tired of dealing with his little brother right now. If Bart wanted to miss out on a game, well that was fine with him.

A few minutes later Pappy and Uncle Ben came in. "Where's Bart," Pappy asked noticing there were only two boys at the table instead of three.

Beau pointed to the settee. "Over there. He said he didn't want to play."

Ben went over to the settee. "He's asleep," he soon reported to Pappy with a smile. "Want me to wake him?"

Pappy seemed to consider it then shook his head. "Don't bother."

"He'll probably be mad if you don't," Bret offered quietly. He could imagine the fuss Bart would kick up when he found out he had missed out on playing with Pappy and Uncle Ben. Not that he really wanted to put up with any more of Bart's whining tonight.

"He'll get over it. If he's already asleep, he probably needs it," Pappy said lighting up a cigar. "Then again he may be up all night because of it," Pappy added as Ben rejoined them at the table.

 _Won't make any difference to you if he is or not_ , Bret thought as Pappy set down _. You won't be there_. The second the thought came to him Bret looked to Pappy sharply, horrified for a second that he'd made the comment out loud. Pappy didn't seem to be paying any attention to him. Bret breathed a sigh of relief that the thought had stayed just that, a thought. At the very least, saying something like that would have gotten him a hard look and a "Breton Joseph". There was a good chance it would have earned him a trip out back with Pappy too.

"Think we can take them, Bret?" Pappy asked shuffling the cards.

Bret smiled and tried to push all the other thoughts out of his mind. "Yes, sir."

As they started to play, Bret was fairly successful at banishing everything but the cards from his mind. He didn't think about Miss Potter or what a nuisance Bart had been today or how he wasn't sure if Pappy really cared about if he was having a hard time at school or not. Right now, Pappy was playing cards with him, and Bret loved playing cards with his father. It was only when they were playing poker that Pappy acted like Pappy; acted like Pappy before Mama had died. For a little while, Bret could pretend like their whole world hadn't fallen apart a year-and-a-half ago, and things were just as they should be. Reality soon came barging through the door of his fantasy as the game ended. It didn't end the way it would have two years ago with Mama coming in and telling Pappy it was time to let them go to bed. Instead, Uncle Ben called play to a halt when Beau got to looking like he was about to fall asleep at the table.

"I think it's time to call it a night," Ben said as he pulled the cards Beau held out of his hands and laid them on the table.

"I can play longer," Beau protested, but there wasn't much conviction in the drowsy voice and the words ended with a yawn.

"I'm not so sure," Ben told him. "Besides, no matter what your Uncle Beau says a man can't play poker all the time."

"Never said that. Even the best of us have to sleep sometime," Pappy replied pushing back from the table. "Guess I better try and get Bartley up." Pappy stood and went over to the settee where Bart was still fast asleep. "Bart," he called giving Bart's shoulder a shake. There was no reaction from the boy. Pappy shook a little harder. "Bart, wake up."

Bart eyes slowly opened and he looked at his father quizzically, not looking at all happy that he'd been awakened.

"Come on," Pappy said sitting Bart up. "It's time to go home." Bart blinked a few times before his eyes started to drift shut again. "Bartley," Pappy said giving him another nudge. "Wake up."

"I'm tired," Bart whined rubbing his eyes.

"That's why we're going home, so you can go to bed."

Bart wrapped his arms around Pappy's neck. Pappy shook his head as he picked Bart up. He would have preferred Bart to walk out, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. Bart laid his head on Pappy's shoulder and his breathing soon evened back out. "He must be worn out," Pappy chuckled before turning to Bret. "What did you and Beau do to him today?"

"Nothing," Bret said a little defensively. He was already getting blamed for being late all the time; he wasn't going to take responsibility for Bart not being able to stay awake too.

After telling Beau and Uncle Ben goodnight, Bret went out to the wagon with Pappy. Pappy looked down at Bart then Bret. "You want to drive home, boy?"

Despite the worry that had been renewed by the ending of the game, Bret couldn't help but smile as he climbed up in the wagon. Maybe he was getting tired of having to look after Bart all the time and having to deal with Miss Potter, but there were advantages to being the oldest. Pappy would never have let Bart drive the horses.

xxxxxx

Since Bart was still asleep, Pappy again took the responsibility of putting him to bed. And again, after he was finished Pappy came over to Bret's bed. Bret didn't ask if Pappy was going out tonight, he knew he was. He started to tell Pappy about Miss Potter but decided against it at the last minute. Instead, he just told Pappy goodnight and curled up in his bed when Pappy put out the lamp.

For some time after Pappy left Bret lay in the dark thinking about the night they'd just had. Pappy had joked during supper tonight, he'd been the one suggest the poker game, and he'd let Bret drive home. He'd been more like the man Bret liked his father to be, rather than the one he'd been last night and Bret could think of only one reason for the change; he hadn't said anything about school when they'd come home today. That had to be what made the difference; nothing else had been changed. As hard as it was, and as much as he didn't know what he was going to do about it, Bret had to think of some solution to this problem. Alone.

He suddenly heard Bart moan and his heart sank a little. He really hoped Bart wasn't having a nightmare. Bret had too much going on in his mind and he didn't want to have to deal with that right now. He waited a minute before he did anything, hoping Bart would go back to sleep, but soon Bart moaned again and Bret heard him tossing in his bed.

Sighing, Bret got up and went across the room. "Bart?" he asked softly. "You alright?" Another moan from Bart. "Bart?" Bret asked gently shaking Bart's shoulder.

"Bret?"

"You alright?" Bret asked again taking note of the way Bart had sleepily mumbled his name. Not really at all like the way Bart sounded after a bad dream. Maybe he was okay after all.

"Where's Pappy?"

"He went to town," Bret told him. If Bart had been having a bad dream, it didn't seem to be bothering him now, for which Bret was grateful. When they had first started Bart had been almost inconsolable; clinging to Bret and sobbing for what had seemed like hours. Bret had never told anyone, but it had scared him to see Bart like that. They weren't nearly so bad now, but Bret still didn't like them and any night Bart didn't need him to hold him and assure him things were okay was a good night. It was looking like it would be a good night.

"I'm cold."

"Do you want another blanket?" Bret didn't know why Bart would be cold. It was a little chilly in the room, but Bret had been more than comfortable under the quilts of his own bed, and he'd seen Pappy pull up Bart's extra blanket when he'd tucked him in tonight. But if Bart wanted another blanket, Bret would get him one. At least it was something that was easily taken care or.

"Hmm-mmm."

Bret went over to his own bed and got the quilt that was folded at the foot and brought it back over to Bart. Spreading it out Bret tucked it in around his little brother. "Is that better?" The only answer Bret received were Bart's deep, even breaths, indicating he'd fallen asleep again. Glad that the "crisis" had passed, Bret climbed back into bed.

The moon was shining brightly enough tonight so that Bret could see across the room to the lump that was his brother. Bret watched him for a minute and suddenly felt like crying. "I wish you were here, Mama," Bret whispered blinking back his tears. "I'm tryin' to take care of things like you said, but it's hard. Miss Potter's mad cause we're always late and she wants to talk to Pappy and he don't want to and I don't know what to do." Afraid his voice was getting too loud Bret turned his face into his pillow some; it wouldn't do to wake Bart up. "I try not to be late, Mama, but Bart never wants to get up, and Pappy can't help . . . ." Bret clamped a hand over his mouth as a sob rose up. He couldn't wake Bart, not if he was going to cry. It upset Bart to see him cry, and Bret was upset enough without having to deal with Bart too. That thought only made things worse. He was tired of taking care of Bart; of acting like Bart's Pappy.

Bret spent the next few minutes calming himself down. When he felt like he wasn't going to burst into tears anymore he started talking to Mama again. "I'm tryin', Mama, but it's not good enough. I don't know what else to do." Silent tears started to roll down his cheeks and Bret didn't do anything to stop them. "I miss you, Mama. I wish you'd never got sick. I wish you were still here with us." Bret hesitated to say what else he was thinking, but he could almost hear Mama encouraging him to tell her. Mama had always told him he could tell her anything, and Bret always had. "I wish I didn't have to look after Bart anymore," he finally confessed.

Bret wasn't sure if he should feel guilty about what he'd just said or not. He kind of did, but he kind of didn't too. Choking on another sob Bret buried his head in his pillow, and for the first time since Mama's funeral, he cried himself to sleep.

 **A/N: A big thank you to Mavericklover2 for giving Bret his middle name, and for letting me use it.**


	4. Fever

Bret had been both mentally and physically worn out, and emotionally spent, when his body had finally given in to sleep, but he didn't rest at all. He woke up several times throughout the night, and each time it was a struggle to get back to sleep. Finally just as the first traces of gray were coloring the sky, Bret got up. He hated mornings. And getting up before the sun made him hate them even more, but he was determined that they would not be late today. He'd decided he wouldn't disappoint Miss Potter again, and he wouldn't say anything else to Pappy about school. Getting up at this ungodly hour was a miserable solution but Bret couldn't think of anything else. And if this is what it took to keep his teacher happy and help Pappy stay like Pappy, Bret figured he could suffer through it.

Wearily Bret pushed himself out of bed and started dressing. "Bart," he called over to his brother. "It's time to get up." The mountain of quilts his brother was buried under didn't even stir. Bret sighed; Bart wouldn't like getting up this early any more than he did, but really it was all Bart's fault. Maybe if he had to watch the sunrise a few times he'd learn to move when Bret told him to.

By the time Bret had finished dressing, Bart was still nestled in bed. Bret gave his brother a nudge on his way out the door. "Get up, Bart. We can't be late today." There was some kind of mumbled reply, but Bret didn't pay too much attention. At least Bart was awake now.

Bret stopped at the foot of the stairs and mentally sorted through everything that needed to be done before they left. The Maverick's didn't actually keep a working ranch so there weren't a great many chores that _had_ to be done. The cow did need to be milked; the chickens had to be seen to and the eggs gathered, and the horses had to be fed, but everything else could wait until the afternoon if need be. He also needed to make sure they had something for lunch, but the animals came first. He would start with the milking, Bret decided as he went outside.

After Bret finished milking the cow they kept for just that purpose, he took the milk back inside. ' _If I get the horses'_ , Bret thought as deposited the milk in the kitchen, ' _Bart can get the chickens. Then we'll have plenty of time to eat, get lunch, and still make it to school on time_.' It was a good plan with only one flaw; Bart was nowhere in sight. Grunting in frustration, Bret hurried back to the bedroom.

"Bart, get up!" he called as he entered the room. "You can't sleep in today." He started shaking the lump under the blankets until he got a reaction.

"Stop!" Bart finally called out in a whiny voice.

"Well, get up! You gotta get the eggs too." Hurrying back outside, Bret checked that there was still water in the trough, blessedly there was, and gave the horses their morning grain. He went back inside and hurriedly spread jam on a piece of bread - so he would have at least something for breakfast - before he started to look for something to take for lunch. He was gathering things up when Beau walked in. Bret stopped what he was doing and stared at his cousin in horror for a moment. It couldn't be time for Beau to be here already.

"I'm early," Beau said when he caught Bret's panicked expression.

Bret breathed a sigh relief. "Good. I don't think Bart's ready yet," he complained. "And we still got to see about the chickens."

Beau pointed to a basket on the table. "I already did."

Bret flashed his cousin a grateful smile. Maybe Beau at least understood his problem of how hard it was to get everything done in the mornings. "Is Uncle Ben still asleep?" he asked as he started making lunch, even though he knew what the answer would be.

"Naturally," Beau grumbled.

Bret understood Beau disgruntled tone. He couldn't wait to finally be finished with school so he could stay out all night playing poker and sleep the morning away. And best of all, he wouldn't have to worry about teachers. He still had several years of schooling, of course, but he didn't have as long as Beau and Bart. _'Bart'_ , Bret suddenly thought. Why wasn't he down yet? He looked into the sitting room at the clock on the wall and groaned. If they left right now they would be okay, but of course, they weren't ready. They needed to hurry and get out the door. What was taking Bart so long?

Bret started back up the stairs, beginning to get a little angry. Bart had better be up. They would not be late again, even if he had to drag Bart out of bed and get him to school in his night clothes. He knew how Miss Potter and Pappy felt about each other, and if he had anything to say about it, they would not be a meeting between the two of them.

"Why don't you go on," Bret told his cousin when he noticed Beau was following him to the bedroom. "There's no sense in you getting in trouble too."

Beau stubbornly shook his head. Bret grinned. He couldn't help but be pleased Beau was refusing to leave. Mavericks hung together, no matter what. Besides Beau probably wouldn't get in much trouble, Miss Potter had never said anything to Beau about being late. Bret wondered if Uncle Ben would be willing to meet with Miss Potter if Beau had been sent home with a note.

When Bret entered the bedroom, he found Bart had yet to emerge from his pile of quilts. Irritably, Bret stomped over to his little brother and began to shake Bart. "Bart! Get up!"

"No," came the muffled and whiny sounding response, followed by a spell of coughing.

Bret bristled at the answer. "You don't want Pappy having to talk with Miss Potter, do you?" It wasn't a very good threat, but it was the best he could do right now. If Pappy was forced into an unneeded conversation with Miss Potter, he would fuss about it for days. Bart may not have been very concerned with the note, but he wouldn't want to hear Pappy carry on about having to go to school any more than Bret would.

There was another, weaker sounding, cough from Bart. "G'way, Bret."

That was what got Bret's attention. Bart may not like mornings any more than Bret did, but he never refused to get up. "Bart?" he said softly as he pulled the blankets back some. Bart was curled up on his side, his back facing Bret. "Bart?" Bret asked again. "What's wrong?"

His brother finally rolled over to look at him and Bret noticed with alarm that Bart looked flushed. Bart coughed again before he weakly answered. "I want Pappy, Bret."

Bret put a hand to his brother's head. Bret didn't have a lot of experience with fevers, but even he could tell there was too much heat coming off of Bart's forehead. "Hang on, Bart. I'll get him." He ran out of the room giving Beau orders to stay with the younger Maverick on his way by.

Bret hurried down the stairs and into Pappy's room at the back of the house. "Pappy, wake up!" Bret called as he began shaking his father's shoulder. "You have to get up!" Like his children, Beauregard had a dislike for mornings, and he could be less than pleasant when he'd had too little sleep. For this reason, Pappy had given them explicit directions to never wake him early, unless it was an emergency. Well, Bret wasn't crazy about having to wake Pappy up now, but if this wasn't an emergency Bret didn't know what was.

"What's the matter with you, boy?" Pappy asked groggily, rolling over to look at Bret.

"Something's wrong with Bart. I think he's got a fever…."

Bret was surprised when Pappy was instantly awake. "What's wrong?" he demanded, sitting up and motioning for his pants.

Bret grabbed the pants off the back of a chair and passed them over. "He didn't get up when I called him today. I just went in to try again and he's burning up." He didn't have time for much more of an explanation. As soon as Pappy was half-way decent again he left the room, stalking towards the boy's. When they got back to the room, they found Beau sitting on the edge of the bed talking to Bart softly. Beau jumped up as Pappy went over and moved to stand beside Bret.

Taking the place his nephew had previously sat, Pappy eased down by his son. "Bart? What's wrong, son?" Bart didn't answer but scooted over until he was curled up next to his father. "Bart?" Pappy asked again.

"I'm cold," Bart whimpered, shivering slightly just before he coughed.

Pappy pulled Bart onto his lap and Bret felt his heart skip a beat. Something was really wrong; Pappy didn't usually hold them like that. "Pappy?" he asked uncertainly, his voice trembling some.

Pappy looked back to them, almost as though he had forgotten they were there. "Bret, I want you to saddle up and fetch the doc. Beau, run home and get your pa."

"Yes, sir," the boys answered in perfect unison before darting out of the room.

Once they got outside Beau ran off in the direction of his own home and Bret hurried to the barn where he saddled up as quickly as he could. It took him longer than it should have due to the slight trembling of his hands, but Bret couldn't seem to calm the fear that was overtaking him. Bart's fever had just started this morning. He hadn't been sick long enough to warrant sending for the doctor yet. Had he? Bret couldn't help but think that something was terribly wrong. Wrong enough that Pappy thought they couldn't help Bart on their own. Was Bart sick enough to die?

As he was mounting, Bret remembered what he'd said last night and a shudder went through him. ' _I didn't mean it',_ he thought frantically, his heart now racing. ' _Please get better, Bart_. _I didn't really mean that I wished I didn't have to take care of you anymore.'_

xxxxxx

Doctor Everett Jennings had been practicing medicine for more years than he cared to remember. He had long ago become accustomed to the idea of early mornings and late nights, but his body had never quite gotten used to them. So, the pounding on his door barely an hour after sunup wasn't exactly a welcomed sound. And judging by the frantic knocking it sounded like he had an emergency on his hands. He sighed as he moved into the front room. He could only hope the situation wasn't as serious as his early morning caller thought it was.

"Bret," he said in surprise when he opened the door and had Beauregard's boy almost fall in on him. "What's the matter, son?"

Bret had to take a couple of steadying breaths before he could answer. "It - it's Bart."

Doc Jennings would have smiled if Bret hadn't looked so serious. Beauregard and Ben certainly had their hands full with these boys, particularly the youngest. Doc would estimate that at least half the times that he'd been called out to the Maverick place; it was Bart who needed his services. "What's the trouble this time?" he asked bringing Bret inside.

Bret shook his head. "I don't know! He wouldn't get up this morning and I went up again and he had a fever, so I went and got Pappy and Pappy said . . . ."

"Shhhh," Doc cut into Bret's overwrought explanation. The boy was rattling everything off so fast Jennings could hardly understand him. He knelt down so he was more on the boy's level and placed his hands on Bret's shoulders. "Try to calm down, Bret." Bret took several deep breaths. "Now, slowly tell me what's going on."

"Bart wouldn't get up this morning. When I went up again he had a fever, and Pappy said to come get you." Bret was now on the verge of tears. "I think somethin' really bad's wrong with him."

Jennings nodded. "It's alright, son. We'll go out and take a look at him and find out what he needs." Bret nodded. "Do you want to wait and ride out with me?"

Bret considered it for a moment before shaking his head. "No, sir. I want to get back as soon as I can."

Doc smiled and patted Bret's shoulder. "Alright. Tell your pa I'll be out as soon as I get my things together."

Again Bret nodded. "Yes, sir."

Bret rushed out the door and Doc Jennings watched as he climbed on his horse and took off back out of town. Sighing, he went to his exam room to get his bag. He thought about young Bart Maverick and another sigh escaped him. The poor boy was a magnet for trouble if he ever saw one. He could only hope the situation wasn't as serious as his early morning caller thought it was.


	5. Scarlatina

Beauregard watched as his son and nephew ran out the door and then turned his attention to the boy in his lap. Bart was wrapped in a blanket, curled up about as small as he could get and still Beauregard could feel the chills shaking him. The fever was high, way too high. Beauregard put his hand back to Bart's head, his heart squeezing when he again felt the unnatural amount of heat. It hardly seemed possible Bart could have gotten so sick so fast; he'd been fine last night when Beauregard had put him to bed. No, he realized as he thought about it, Bart hadn't been fine. There had been numerous subtle signs that Bart had been anything but fine. His sullen silence, his constant irritability, his coughing, the unusual way he'd forgone cards last night and fallen asleep at Ben's. Guilt washed over Beauregard. How could he have been so blind? How could he have let this go so far? "I'm sorry, Bart," he mumbled, his grip on his son tightening.

"Pappy?"

Beauregard was startled to hear the muffled voice; he'd thought Bart was asleep. "What is it, son?"

Several coughs racked Bart's body before he answered. "I'm c – cold."

Beauregard got one of the other blankets that was on the bed and wrapped it around Bart too. "Bret's going to get the doc. He'll be here soon." Bart only whimpered in reply and somehow got into an even tighter knot. "What else is wrong, son?"

"Throat hurts."

Beauregard sighed, feeling completely helpless. He'd only felt this useless once before in his life and God help him, he couldn't go through that again. "Doc'll be here soon."

For the next several minutes, Beauregard sat on the bed holding his son as guilt and worry vied for the dominant position in his warring emotions. The house seemed deathly quiet, and it began to bring back memories Beau would just have soon stayed buried. Memories of another fever he couldn't stop; another person he loved just as much as he loved his boy whom he had been powerless to help.

"Pappy?" The pitiful whimper broke into Beau's private hell.

Beauregard had to swallow the lump that was growing in his throat before he could answer. "Yes, son?"

"I don't feel good," Bart moaned.

"I know."

A series of coughs racked Bart's body. "I f – feel sick."

A gag came in tandem with the words, and before Beau could respond Bart leaned over him and heaved. There wasn't much Beau could do, so he remained where he was and let nature take its course. His heart broke a little more with every gag and every spasm that went through his son. He should have seen what was happening; he shouldn't have let Bart get this sick.

Bart was trembling by the time he was finished, and Beauregard saw tears standing in his eyes when he pulled him upright again. Bart put his arms around his pappy and buried his face in his neck. "I don't wanna be sick again," Bart stated pitifully.

Beau rubbed Bart's back. "I don't want you to be sick again either." He had intended to try and clean Bart up some, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to push Bart away when he'd reached for him. So he did what he could with one hand and a child wrapped around his neck. The quilt Bart had been wrapped in was thoroughly soiled and Beau wadded it up as best he could before dumping it on the floor.

Bart weakly shook his head. "It hurts, Pappy, I don't wanna do it again," he said just before another violent cough tore from his throat.

Beauregard was sure that at some point in his life he'd heard words that had cut him deeper but offhand he couldn't think of what they were. "I'm sorry, boy," he muttered, hoping Ben would arrive before Bart was sick again.

Less than five minutes later Beauregard's unspoken prayer was answered with the opening of the front door. Seconds later, he breathed a sigh of relief as Ben hurried in, followed closely by Beau.

"Beau said Bart's sick. What's wrong?" asked Ben as he went over to the bed where his brother sat. Beauregard looked at Ben and a silent message passed between the two men. Ben turned to his son. "Why don't you go outside and wait for Bret?"

Beau's eyes went between his father and his uncle. "Why?"

"Just go on," Ben said. Reluctantly, Beau left. The two men remained silent until they heard the front door close behind the young Maverick.

"What's wrong?" Ben asked again peering down at his nephew.

"It's some kind of fever," Beau told him. "I wouldn't have called you over, but Beau was in here with him earlier…"

"I'm glad you did," Ben cut in. "Bret's bringing the doc?"

Beau nodded. "Would you get the pot for me? He was sick earlier."

"So I see," Ben said eyeing the mess on the floor before passing the pot to his brother.

Beauregard sighed. "I'll clean it up later; I just . . . didn't want to leave him."

Ben studied his brother, taking note of the way Beauregard was clinging to Bart as though the boy might slip away at any moment. "You alright?" he asked after a while.

Beauregard looked up, forcing a smile. "Yeah, fine."

Just then a shiver ran through Bart. Whimpering, Bart burrowed in as close to his father as he could. For a brief, very brief, moment Ben saw a flash of intense pain in Beau's eyes, and he knew what his brother was thinking of. It hadn't been that long since a fever had claimed Belle's life. Ben wondered if he should say something or just pretended like he hadn't seen Beau's moment of grief. Finally, he decided that right now his brother needed support more than he needed his pride to remain unblemished.

"Don't worry, Beauregard. He's tough."

Beauregard pushed Bart's damp hair off his forehead and looked up at Ben plaintively. "So was she."

Ben didn't have an answer for that so he decided to keep his mouth shut until the doctor arrived.

xxxxxx

It wasn't much over an hour from the time Bret rode into to town to the time the doctor walked into Bart's sickroom, but it felt like an eternity to Beauregard. Bart was sick twice more while they were waiting although thankfully the results were more contained than the first time. Ben had helped Beauregard get Bart changed and clean up most of the mess from earlier, but he left the room soon after those tasks were done. Bret had wanted to stay with his brother, but Beauregard wasn't willing to risk Bret having any more exposure to whatever had taken hold of Bart until he knew what they were dealing with and sent him out. Bret hadn't been pleased with being barred from the room and Ben had gone to try and calm the still very upset boy down, and help him see the logic behind his pappy's actions. So Beauregard and Bart had waited alone; Bart clinging to his father as his cough seemed to get progressively worse and growing more miserable with each passing minute.

"Beauregard," Doc greeted as he entered the room. "What seems to be the trouble with our boy today?"

"Some kind of fever," Beauregard intoned. The past hour had been difficult for him. He hated being unable to do anything to help his son and as far as misery went, he wasn't doing much better than Bart.

Doc sat down in a chair next to the bed. "When did it start?" he asked, taking note of Beauregard's monotone. The man was nervous and Doc could hardly blame him given it had been less than two years since a mysterious fever had taken his wife.

"The fever was this morning, but he's uhh. . . been a little out of sorts the last couple of days."

"Out of sorts how?"

Beauregard sighed feeling a renewed sense of guilt. "Irritable, coughing; just not really himself."

Doc nodded. "Well, let's take a look at him." Beauregard pried Bart away from him and turned him around so he was facing the doctor. One look was all it took for Doc to see that Bart was indeed a very sick little boy. His eyes were weak and red-rimmed, and an unhealthy looking flush colored his face. "Bart, do mind if take a look at you and see what we can do to make you feel better?" Bart weakly shook his head.

Doc smiled and put a hand to Bart's forehead. A brief touch told Jennings the boy's temperature was indeed elevated quite a bit. It wasn't dangerously high, but certainly high enough to make Bart feel wretched. Just how high it was wasn't of any concern to him right now. He gently palpated Bart's throat, not liking the swelling he felt. "Can you open your mouth for me?" he asked. Bart didn't look happy about it but did as he was asked. Years of practicing medicine kept Doc from grimacing when he saw the inflammation of Bart's tonsils; he didn't like the way they looked either. And he really didn't like the slight white color that was covering Bart's tongue. "Your throat hurts doesn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Bart answered. Another coughing fit followed the words.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to, Bart. Just nod or shake your head." Bart nodded. "Have you been sick?" Again Bart nodded. Doc looked to Beauregard silently asking for more information.

"That started this morning too," Beauregard told him.

"Frequency?"

"Three times so far."

Doc sighed before turning his attention back to Bart. "Bart, I know I said you didn't have to talk, but I need you to tell me something. Are you hurting anywhere besides your throat?" Bart looked unsure and tried to scoot a little closer to his father. "Bart?" Jennings prodded.

Bart glanced up at his father. "Bart," Beauregard said. "If something's wrong, son, we need to know."

Bart still looked uncertain, but he finally mumbled an answer. "My back."

"Down here?" Doc asked placing a hand on the small of Bart's back. Bart nodded and buried his head back in Beauregard's chest, another cough escaping.

Beauregard had been studying the doctor during Bart's entire exam and he hadn't cared for some of the looks that had gone over Doc's face a few times. They were subtle, most people wouldn't have seen anything, but Beau made his living reading people and he knew Doc was about to deliver news he didn't want to hear.

"Bart." Doc took a thermometer from his bag. "Can you put this in your mouth for me?" Bart looked back at the doctor and opened his mouth. "Remember, under the tongue," Doc reminded him sternly. Bart had a bad habit of moving the thermometer around in his mouth, sometimes making it difficult to get a reading. Bart nodded solemnly and leaned his head back against Beauregard.

Jennings then addressed the elder Maverick. "How's his appetite been?"

Beau tried to think back to the last couple of nights and what Bart had eaten. His appetite had been pretty poor if he remembered right. He sighed, something else he should have taken note of before now. "It uhh, hasn't been as good as usual."

Doc nodded again as he took Bart's pulse; a little weak but rapid. He frowned as he set Bart's arm back down. "When did all this start?"

Beauregard had an uneasy feeling settle in the pit of his stomach. Doc may have tried to hide a lot of his reactions today, but that frown had been as plain as day. "Yesterday I guess. It was last night he didn't eat well, and he was kind of whiney during supper. Didn't want to play cards and went to sleep early, but the fever didn't start until this morning." Maybe he hadn't been paying attention like he should have, but he would have noticed a fever. He was sure of it.

"Sounds about right," Doc muttered.

"What are we lookin' at, Doc?" Beauregard demanded. He was sure he wasn't going to like what the doctor had to tell him, but he couldn't stand being in the dark any longer.

Doc didn't answer right away but instead took the thermometer out of Bart's mouth. He studied it for a moment. "One hundred and two," he told Beau. "Getting close to one hundred and three."

"Doc?" Beauregard snapped. He wanted to know what was wrong with his son and he wanted to know now.

"I can't be certain until the rash comes, which will probably be tomorrow, or maybe tonight, but from what I'm seeing, and what you and Bart have told me, I think it's Scarlet Fever."


	6. The Best Choice

Bret had tried to return to his and Bart's room as soon as he'd gotten home, but Pappy had promptly sent him back out. Not that Bret had been easily persuaded, he had pleaded until Pappy had given him a "look", but even that hadn't done the job today. It wasn't until Pappy uttered a quiet but tense, "Breton", that Bret took any notice. Pappy hardly ever called him by his full name, even when he was in trouble. It wasn't something to be ignored, especially when it was said softly. Finally recognizing the warning for what it was Bret reluctantly left.

Bret joined Beau outside, but instead of sitting on the front steps with his cousin, Bret sat on the porch, his back against the house. He was there worrying and sulking when Uncle Ben came out and squatted down beside him.

"You alright?" Ben asked.

"Is Bart alright?" was Bret's reply. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter how he was so long as Bart was okay.

"We don't know yet. That's why Doc's coming."

Bret didn't say anything for a minute. Bart couldn't be sick, not really sick, not like Mama had been. But something was wrong, something serious because the doctor was coming and Pappy never sent for Doc the first day one of them was sick. Pappy had to know something was wrong or Doc wouldn't be coming. If Pappy knew what was wrong, why wouldn't he tell them? "You know what's wrong with him, don't you?" Bret accused his uncle. "That's why y'all won't let us in."

Ben sighed heavily. "We don't know, and that's why we're not letting you in. Your Pappy and I don't want you and Beau sick if we can help it. The best way to make sure that doesn't happen is for you not to be around him right now."

"But he's my brother!" Bret protested. "I'm supposed to take care of him." He felt like crying again and he hated it. He couldn't cry in front of Ben, especially not in front of Beau. "I promised Mama I would," he added quietly.

Ben gave Bret's shoulder a squeeze. "Bret, you do take care of him. But your pappy's supposed to take care of him too, and you. And that's what he's trying to do."

"I just want to see him."

"He's not keeping you out because he doesn't want you there, Bret. He's just worried about you."

Worried? Bret wasn't sure he believed that. Why should Pappy be worried? He hadn't been too concerned with any of Bret's other problems. Like having to get up early, get Bart up, make sure they had lunch, or getting the chores done. And he wouldn't even let Bret talk about school. "Why does he care now?" Bret thought bitterly.

"Bret."

Bret turned back to his uncle and saw a look of disapproval. With a sinking feeling he realized that this time he _had_ spoken out loud. "I – I didn't . . . mean that. I'm sorry." Pappy was already upset with him, the last thing he needed was to have Uncle Ben tell Pappy about this.

Ben's expression softened. "He always cares, Bret, but I know he hasn't shown it very well lately. He does want you to be safe, though, so will you trust us for now that this is what's best for everybody?" Bret begrudgingly nodded. Ben smiled. "Good. I know Beauregard will appreciate it."

"You won't tell him what I said will you?" Bret asked nervously.

Ben chuckled and sat down beside his nephew. "No, I won't tell him. We all say things we don't really mean sometimes."

Bret thought about that as he dropped his head over on his uncle's shoulder. That wasn't the first thing he'd said that he didn't mean. He wasn't tired of taking care of Bart, not really. One of his earliest memories was of the day Bart had been born, of Pappy taking him in to see Mama and meet his little brother. From that day on he'd always wanted to help Mama with Bart. It wasn't that he didn't want to watch out for Bart, he just wished Pappy would be a pappy again. Uncle Ben put an arm around him and for a moment Bret wondered if he'd said something else he hadn't meant to. Ben didn't say anything though so Bret figured he was safe.

"Pa," Beau suddenly asked. Both Ben and Bret looked to the younger Maverick who was still sitting on the porch steps. "Is Bart gonna be okay?"

Ben motioned for his son to join them and waited until Beau was seated on his other side before he answered. "I'm sure he will be," Ben said, hoping he looked as confident as he was trying to sound. He was holding out hope that Bart's condition wasn't as severe as everyone was thinking. It hadn't been that long since they had lost Belle so of course everyone was nervous **;** he was nervous, but he was trying to remain optimistic. Beauregard was being negative enough for all of them, and the boys needed to see someone with a little more belief.

The three of them sat that way until Doc Jennings pulled into the yard. Ben went inside with the doctor and quickly returned. "What'd he say?" Bret demanded as soon as Ben stepped outside.

"He just got here, Bret. He hasn't said anything yet."

Bret looked to the house, wishing more than anything he could be with his brother. Bart had to be okay; he had to be. ' _I didn't mean it, Bart,'_ he thought as worry twisted knots in his stomach _. 'I swear I didn't mean it.'_

"Come on," Uncle Ben said putting his arm around him again. "Let's sit down. We'll know more when the doc finishes up."

Bret wasn't sure exactly how long they waited for Doc to come back out, but it seemed like forever. When the man did exit the house Bret was disappointed to find Doc didn't look like Bart was just fine. "Is he gonna be okay?" he asked.

Doc looked at him and gave him kind of a sad smile. "He's very sick right now, Bret."

"Like Mama?" Bret wondered fearfully.

"No. No, it's not what your mama had. Ben, can I have a word?" Doc led Uncle Ben a little ways away and the two quietly exchanged a few words before the doctor ducked back inside.

As soon as Doc was gone Bret ran up. "What'd he say, Uncle Ben?"

Ben gave Bret's shoulder a squeeze. "I need to see to Beauregard for a minute. You wait out here."

"I want to see Bart."

"Not now."

"But…"

"I need to talk to your pappy first."

Bret sighed as he watched his uncle go back in the house. Ben had seemed sure Bart would be fine earlier; he didn't quite look that way now. He looked over at Beau who didn't appear to be any happier than anyone else. Neither boy spoke and after a minute Beau kind of shrugged and went back to his seat on the stairs. Bret stood and stared at the door. He didn't know what else to do.

xxxxxx

Scarlet Fever. Scarlatina. The diagnosis had hit Beauregard with the force of a physical blow. Why did these things always happen to Bart? His baby; the best link he had to his precious Belle. Not that he would wish the sickness on Bret or Beau, of course he wouldn't, but why was it Bart always seemed to find trouble? Scarlet fever. The words kept running through his mind until he thought he might actually be sick. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he feared; at least he knew what they were dealing with. Unlike with Belle when Doc hadn't been able to tell him anything. ' _He'll be fine'_ , he told himself. People did recover from Scarlet fever. They didn't recover too.

"Beauregard?"

The voice startled Beauregard out of his ruminating. He jerked his head around to the doctor and found the man watching him quizzically. "What?"

Doc sighed. He didn't know where Beauregard had been the last few minutes, but he hadn't been with him. It was unlikely Beauregard had processed any of what he'd just been told. The man was a wreck, and Doc didn't blame him. He'd been widowed just over a year, and now his boy was suffering from something similar to what had taken his wife. He knew more about what he was treating this time around, but he doubted that provided a great deal of comfort for the man. He needed Ben in here, someone with a clearer head than the Maverick patriarch had right now. "I'm going to get some water," he said figuring Beauregard would protest if he actually said he was going to fetch the man's brother. "I'll be back."

Water? Beauregard sighed. Why hadn't he thought of having water up here before now? Obviously it was something that would be needed. "I should've had Ben bring some up. I'll get it."

Doc put a hand on Beau's knee to stop him from getting up. "I've taken care of these boys enough to know where things are. You stay with your boy. I'll get it."

Beauregard nodded and wearily rubbed his eyes. "What do we need to do about Bart?"

Doc raised one eyebrow slightly. That answered the question Doc had earlier about whether or not Beauregard had heard what he'd been saying. "We'll talk about it when I get back."

Beauregard watched Doc leave before turning his attention back to his son. How was he going to get through this? Belle should be here; she should be the one holding Bart now. Beauregard just wasn't any good at things like this; the boy needed his mama. He looked down at Bart who, thankfully, appeared to be dozing, and kissed the top of his head. Belle wasn't here; sadly, he was all Bart had. He hoped that would be enough.

It wasn't long before Doc returned. He had the pitcher of water he'd gone for, but he also had Ben with him. Without a word Doc sat back down in the chair he'd previously occupied and Ben took a spot at the foot of the bed. For a moment no one spoke **,** then Ben started things off. "Scarlet fever, huh?"

Beauregard couldn't keep himself from wincing when he heard the term again, but Doc merely nodded. "It looks that way. This is what's called the primary fever, the rash will follow. As I told Beauregard, it'll probably be tomorrow sometime. It usually starts on the face and neck and moves downward."

Ben sighed. "So what do we do?"

"To begin with, emetics have proven to be very beneficial. Ipecac is usually best. It's gentle, but it brings about the desired effects."

Beauregard's heart broke a little more and he saw Ben grimace when Doc mentioned an emetic. No matter how gentle Doc claimed it was, Beauregard had been on the receiving end of that particular kind of treatment and there was nothing pleasant about it. "Is there nothing else?" he asked.

Doc shrugged. "Waiting. Honestly, Beau, there's not a lot that can be done for Scarlet fever, medicine wise. There's a lot that can happen with it. It can last anywhere from a week to several, it varies in intensity, and there doesn't seem to be a lot of rhyme or reason as to what makes one case worse than another. Once I have an idea about how severe this is going to be, there are some other options, but the emetic is the only thing I can do right now."

"And there's no way to tell how bad it's gonna be?" The question came from Ben, but both men already knew what Doc was going to say.

"Unfortunately, no. At best a few days in bed to give the fever time to burn itself out will be all that's needed but . . . I have no way of knowing if this is going to be a best-case scenario."

"And the worst case?" Beau asked.

Doc shook his head. "We're not even gonna talk about that right now. But that is why I'd like to try the ipecac. It can help, but it needs to be done early. Afterwards there are things I can do to make him more comfortable, but mostly it's something that we just have to let run its course. I know that's probably not what either of you wanted to hear."

Beauregard looked at his son again. "He's already been sick," he reminded Doc.

"I know," Doc said softly. "But we want to make sure there's nothing left."

Beauregard hated the very thought of ipecac. All he could think of was Bart's tearful words from earlier. How could he wake Bart up so he could take something that would purposely induce vomiting? Ipecac would do nothing to ease the Bart's suffering; it would prolong his misery and might not even be necessary. But what if it was needed? If this turned out to be bad and he hadn't allowed something that could have helped Bart, well, he'd never forgive himself for that. "There isn't any way to tell how bad this is gonna get?" He knew the answer, but Beauregard needed to hear the confirmation again.

Doc shook his head and answered the question for the second time. "I'm afraid not."

Beauregard sighed. "If he was one of yours, Doc, what would you do?"

"I'd do anything I could to give him his best chance."

"Ben?" Beau asked. He wasn't sure what he wanted to hear his brother say. He needed to let Doc treat Bart and he knew it, and he knew what Ben's answer would be just as well as he'd known what Doc was going to say. He asked the question anyway.

"I agree with Doc." Ben responded.

Beauregard looked back down at Bart and gently stroked his son's too hot cheek. It needed to be done; there was too much risk in not doing it. "Alright," Beauregard consented. "Whatever you need to do."

"I think that's best," Doc said getting to his feet. "Leave him," he added when Beauregard made a move to wake Bart. "It'll take a few minutes to get everything together and mixed up. Let him sleep as long as he can."

"Thanks, Doc," Beauregard answered. He was glad to see that Doc wanted Bart to be as rested as possible before they started this. Ipecac may be gentler than some things Doc could give Bart, but either way what lay ahead wasn't going to be easy for him. Beauregard stroked Bart's cheek again, dreading having to explain to Bart what they were going to try. He hoped Bart would understand this one day.


	7. I'll Stay Until the End

Ben followed the doctor out of the boy's bedroom and softly shut the door behind them. He hated the thought of what was about to happen to Bart; he could only imagine how Beauregard felt about it. But, were he in his brother's place he'd do the same thing, and he would still hate it.

"You're staying?" Doc asked pausing on the small landing between the two upstairs rooms.

Ben wasn't sure if it was a question or a command, but the answer was the same either way. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Jennings sighed. "Ben," he said pointing to the bedroom they'd just left. "I don't know that I have ever met anyone as prideful or obstinate as that boy in there."

Ben smiled knowing Doc wasn't talking about Bart when he said "boy". "Yes, sir," he replied.

"We both know he'd just as soon take a beatin' as admit he needed help from anybody, but he's scared, Ben. He's gonna need you here with him."

Ben cleared his throat. "Does he have a right to be scared?"

"Yes. Not that I think Bart's in any particular danger. It's still early, but I think he's got a real good chance. Scarlet fever isn't a death sentence, Ben; the vast majority of cases recover just fine. But Bart is his son and he's already lost his wife to fever so yes, he's got every right to be scared."

"Doc, do the boys need to be here? I can take them back to my place if need be."

"Ideally, probably not, but given the circumstances, I don't think there's much of a choice. Right now I'm not sure your brother's capable of taking care of Bart by himself. I was talking to him earlier and he wasn't even hearing me. I really think you should be here, and with it just being the two of you . . . Keep the boys downstairs. Do not let them in that room for any reason."

Ben nodded. He'd suspected doc would give orders like that. He wasn't looking forward to telling Bret it would be a while before he could see his brother. "Bret's not gonna like hearing that."

"No, I don't think he will. The hard truth of the matter is, however, it doesn't matter if he likes it or not. Just don't let him in. And try to limit your own contact with Bart. Help Beauregard with anything he needs but don't hang around unnecessarily. Adults rarely contract Scarlet fever, but it'll be better for the boys if you keep your distance. As I said, it's far from ideal, but do what you can."

Ben chuckled humorlessly. "This is gonna get rough, isn't it."

Doc started downstairs motioning for the younger man to follow him. When they got to the kitchen Doc spoke again. "Before it gets better? Unfortunately, yes. Even at best that fever's gonna get worse, and there's not much that can be done except let it run its course."

"What do you recommend I tell the boys?"

"The truth. There's no reason to keep them in the dark. As I said, Scarlet fever's not a particularly deadly. They've done studies in England and found that most fatal cases occur in children under five, thankfully we're not dealing with anyone quite that young, and they happen in the winter months. Now we may be coming up on winter, but I hear our winter climate's a little better than England's. There also aren't many cases of epidemics. It's contagious but if you take some precautions they should be fine. Could you get me some milk?"

The question at the end of Doc's explanation was unexpected and it took Ben a moment to realize the man had asked him something. He was soon filling a mug with the milk Bret had brought in not long ago.

"It'll help it go down a little easier," Doc explained as the milk was passed to him. "I'm labile to be at least a couple of more hours with Bart," Doc continued. "But I'll talk to the boys myself when I'm done if you'd like me to."

"I'd appreciate that, Doc. Might help Bret understand how serious this is anyway. Make him more inclined to stay away from Bart."

Doc grunted in response. "I suppose I need to get to my patient."

"Do you need me . . . ?" Ben trailed off as he motioned towards the stairs.

Doc shook his head. "No. It won't take more than the two of us. I'm a doctor Ben, and I do what I have to treat my patients, but that doesn't mean I always enjoy it. Between you and me, I wouldn't be there if I didn't have to be."

xxxxxx

Beauregard couldn't remember a time in his life that he had ever wanted to be a father. It wasn't so much that he'd had anything against the idea, it was only that he'd assumed in his younger days he would always be a bachelor. As a bachelor, he'd never seen a reason to imagine there would ever be children in his life, which was really just as well as he'd always figured he'd probably be a horrible father. But Belle had changed his views on bachelorhood. One look at her and Beauregard had started to think that being a husband and settling down with just one woman for life wouldn't be as bad as he'd always thought. And in a roundabout way she'd changed his view of fatherhood as well.

When Belle had agreed to marry him Beauregard had simply accepted the fact that children were likely to come. It seemed that was usually the case when two people got married, but he still hadn't felt much about it one way or the other. Even when he'd found out Belle was expecting he didn't remember feeling any sense of excitement concerning the baby. He hadn't been unhappy with the prospect at all, but he didn't remember being particularly happy about it either. It was Bret who changed that view. After his son was born, minutes after he was born, Beauregard's attitude about being a father had changed and drastically. If he thought he'd fallen hard and fast for Belle it was nothing compared to how fast Bret had wormed his way into his pappy's heart. Bret had quickly become Beauregard's pride and joy. He'd still had his doubts he was going to be any good at fatherhood, but he loved his boy and couldn't imagine anyone besides Belle meaning as much to him as Bret did. Then he'd met Bart.

For the last nine years, his boys had meant everything to him. They'd given him more joy than he'd ever thought possible and after he'd lost Belle they had literally been his only reason for living. Doubts about whether or not he was any good for them still plagued him occasionally, but they were most certainly good for him. Beauregard Maverick, the man who had never wanted to be a father couldn't imagine not being one. Except for now. As much as he loved his boys, at this particular moment, Beauregard hated being a father.

Beauregard sighed and looked down at the boy curled up beside him with his head in his lap. He hated what he was about to do to his son. He knew consenting to the emetic was the right thing to do, the responsible thing, the thing a good father would do, but he wished there was another way. Bart had woken up a few minutes ago and more than once Beauregard had almost tried to explain to him about the emetic, but every time he opened his mouth the words refused to come. He had finally decided to wait for Doc, hoping the older man would be able to provide some insight on what to tell Bart.

Beauregard had started to run his fingers through his boy's sweat dampened hair when Bart suddenly moaned. "Bart?" he asked. "Do you need anything?" Bart silently shook his head. "Do you still feel sick?" Bart nodded and curled up into a tighter knot. Beau sighed again. "I'm sorry, boy."

Getting no other response from Bart, Beauregard was quiet once more. The silence was finally broken by Bart. "Pappy?" he called, his voice hoarse and scratchy from all the coughing he'd done today.

"What is it, Bart?"

"Are you gonna leave?"

Beauregard's brows furrowed unsure of what Bart meant. "Leave?"

Bart coughed before answering. "For poker." Another cough followed.

Beauregard grimaced wondering why he felt a little convicted by the question. There was nothing wrong about the way he worked. Was there? He always waited until they were asleep before he left, and he was always back before they woke up. And he'd never left when they needed him. "Bart . . . " he trailed off wondering exactly what Bart was asking.

Bart rolled over on his back and peered up at his father with his dark eyes, Belle's eyes. "I don't want you to go." Bart's eyes could melt Beauregard on the best of days. Today those eyes, teary and red and weak looking, almost tore his heart out. "Can't you stay home?" Bart pleaded. "Just for tonight?" The words were instantly followed by another coughing fit.

Beauregard was suddenly hit with a revelation as to why Bart's earlier question had seemed so . . . accusatory. He knew why now and the realization hit him in the chest like a blow from a sledgehammer. Back during the spring Bart had come down with a cold. It hadn't been anything to cause any concern, his fever had gotten nowhere near what it was now and it really hadn't slowed Bart down much, but towards bedtime the first night Bart had begun acting as though he'd been struck down by a terrible illness. Bart had gotten whiny and clingy and when Beauregard had tucked the boys in that night, Bart had asked him to stay home. He had said no, telling Bart he had to go to work. Bart had asked again and again Beauregard, a little more sternly than he should have, said no. Because it hadn't been anything serious. He was now realizing that to a six-year-old boy that cold had been very serious, and his pappy had left him.

Beauregard had to take a steadying breath before he could answer. "I'm staying, son. I promise I'm not leaving. Not until you're better."

Bart smiled, or it would have been a smile had he been feeling better, and turned back over, satisfied with the answer.

For the next several minutes, Beauregard sat and silently cussed himself. Maybe he was a terrible father after all. What kind of man left their sick child at home, especially when that sick child was all but begging him to stay? His self-condemnation was cut short by Doc coming back in. Doc had a mug with him and gave the younger man a look that seemed to ask, "Ready?" Beauregard answered with his own look that plainly said, "Not even close."

Doc sat back down and addressed the youngest Maverick. "Bart, I have something I want you to drink for me."

Bart's brows furrowed. "Why?" he croaked.

"It's something that's going to help you."

Bart began shaking his head. "Don't want it." He'd had enough of Doc's medicine to be skeptical about it.

"You have to take it, Bart," Beauregard told his son.

"No," came the whiny but defiant answer.

"Bartley," Beau softly admonished. He didn't want to come down too hard on Bart given how sick he was, but he didn't want to let such a blatant "no" slide.

"They don't taste good," Bart countered in a smaller voice.

"Actually I think this one might taste pretty good," Doc said. "I had your uncle get some milk for me to mix it with."

Bart eyed the mug suspiciously before he shook his head again. "I don't want to."

Doc leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. "You want to get better don't you?" Bart nodded. "This is going to help you. You have to take it, Bart, and I'd rather you drink it on your own."

After a long pause, Bart nodded. "Okay," he said softly. Beauregard pulled Bart up and wrapped a protective arm around him. Now came the hard part.

"Bart, I need to tell you something about this medicine," Doc continued. "It'll help you, but you're not going to feel better right away. It's going to make you feel a little sick again first."

Bart immediately started shaking his head. He had no interest in anything that was going to upset his stomach again. "No, I . . . " a hacking cough cut him off.

Doc waited until Bart's coughing had ceased. "Bart, this is something you have to take."

"I don't wanna be sick again," Bart whimpered.

"I know you don't, but afterward it will make you feel better."

Another shake of his head. "No."

Beauregard sighed. "Bart, listen to me, son."

Bart turned his pleading eyes on his father. "Please, Pappy." More coughing. "I don't w – want to."

"It's to help, son."

Tears filled Bart's eyes. "It hurts."

It was only the knowledge that this was for Bart's own good that kept Beauregard from telling Doc they weren't going through with the ipecac. "I know, son, and I wish we didn't have to do it, but it will help."

Bart had to cough before he could answer. "Don't make me, Pappy. Please."

"You have to, Bart. I know you don't want to; I didn't want to take it either when I had to, but sometimes we have to do things we don't want to."

Bart looked to the mug then back to Beauregard. "You had to ta . . ." another cough. "Take that?"

Beauregard nodded. "I did one time." He motioned for Doc to pass the mug to him. Once he had it he pulled Bart up against him. "Come on. It won't last long."

Bart weakly shook his head. "I don't want to."

"I know." Beauregard put the cup up the Bart's lips.

"Please, pappy."

"Drink it, Bart," Beauregard told him in a voice that was gentle but left little room for argument. Bart resisted as much as he could but pulled against Beauregard the way he was with the cup right against his lips he wasn't left with much of a choice but to drink. When he was done, Beau pulled Bart back into his lap. "It'll be alright, son. It won't go on too long and I'll be right here. I promise I'm not leaving."


	8. Bitter Medicine

"Can't I just look in?"

Ben was shaking his head before Bret even finished talking. "No, Bret." Bret had been trying to negotiate a way to get back in to see Bart since Ben had come back downstairs, and mostly it had been nothing but a circular conversation. Bret had been asking essentially the same things, and Ben had been giving the same answers.

"I won't have to stay long. I just want to see him."

Ben wished he could give his nephew a different answer but the risk was too great. Again he shook his head. "No. Your pappy's got enough to worry about with Bart. He doesn't need to be worried about you getting sick too."

Bret gave his uncle a look that was somewhere between anger and resignation but fell silent, accepting for the moment that he wasn't going to be allowed upstairs. Sighing, he left his uncle and his cousin in the sitting room and sat down on the floor in front of the stairs. Dismally he gazed up the stairs and thought about his brother. Bart was so close, just up the stairs, stairs he and his brother ran up and down countless times throughout a normal day. But today he couldn't climb those stairs, and as close as Bart actually was, he'd never seemed so far away. Uncle Ben wasn't going to let him see his brother, and even if Ben did agree to let him have a quick look, Pappy wouldn't want him there.

Swallowing hard Bret wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees. Scarlet Fever, Uncle Ben had said. Bret wasn't entirely sure what that was but if he wasn't even allowed to go upstairs it had to be bad. He and Bart hadn't been allowed to see much of Mama when she had been sick either; if he couldn't see Bart . . . . Bret suddenly had to blink back tears. Did Pappy and Uncle Ben know more than they had told him and Beau? Was Bart sick enough to die? His thoughts from last night came back to him and Bret felt another wave of guilt wash over him. _I'm sorry, Bart. I really didn't mean it!_

As another apology for the mumbled words no one but him had heard sprang into his mind, Bret angrily brushed away a tear that refused to be contained. He had to stop crying. It wouldn't do any good and he couldn't let Ben or Beau see him acting like a baby. He had to think about Bart now. He'd promised Mama he would watch out for him and that's what he was going to do. His brother needed him right now and there had to be a way to help him.

Bret looked intently at the thirteen steps that were keeping him from his little brother. It wouldn't take much to get up those thirteen stairs. Uncle Ben was in the sitting room, paying no attention to him and he'd already been around Bart today anyway. Just looking in on Bart wouldn't hurt. Pappy would get mad but Pappy was already mad at him, and he would be too tied up with Bart to bother with punishing him. It might even be worth a punishment if he got to see Bart. Filled with sudden resolve Bret got to his feet and took a few steps closer to the stairs. He had almost talked himself into darting up the stairs when Ben came out of the sitting room.

"Why don't you come back in with . . . . " Ben paused and looked between the stairs and Bret, his eyes finally settling on his nephew. "What are you doing out here?"

Knowing he'd been found out, Bret put on a look of innocence. He wasn't nearly as good at it as Bart was, but he gave it his best shot. "Just waitin'," he answered with a shrug.

"Uh – huh," Ben said giving the stairs another glance. "Well, why don't you come back in here with me and Beau?"

For several seconds, Bret stood quietly. He didn't want to sit with Beau and Uncle Ben anymore. He wanted to see his brother, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. "What is Scarlet Fever?" he finally asked. Ben hadn't given them a lot of details when he'd told him and Beau about the sickness Doc was sure Bart had.

"It's just a poison that gets in the body. It comes with a high fever and red rash."

That wasn't much more than Ben had told him before; Bret wondered if his uncle was deliberately keeping something from him or if Ben simply didn't know much. After another long pause, Bret forced out the question that had been eating away at him since this morning when he'd discovered Bart's fever. "Is Bart gonna die?"

Ben didn't answer right away which made Bret suspicious. The truth was, Ben didn't want to give Bret a definite no before they knew how Bart was going to respond to the ipecac, but he didn't want to cause Bret any more worry. God knew Bret already had more to worry about than any boy his age should have to. "He's very sick, Bret. But Doc and Beauregard are doing everything they can for him right now."

"What are they doing?"

Ben sighed and ran a hand through his hair unsure if he should tell Bret about the emetic or not; it was a hard thing to explain to a child. He decided to do the respectable Maverick thing and take the coward's way out. "Bret, Doc's gonna come talk to us as soon as he's done with Bart, and he can explain things a lot better than I can. Just come back in here and wait with me and Beau."

Ben tried to guide him into the sitting room, but Bret shook his uncle's hand off. "What are they doing?" he asked again, a note of panic creeping into his voice. He wasn't stupid; there was something going on that Uncle Ben didn't want to talk about, and Bret wanted to know what it was.

Another sigh escaped Ben, but he answered the question. "They're having to give Bart an emetic. Do you know what that is?" Bret silently shook his head. "Come on back in here and we'll talk about it." Once again he put his hand on Bret's shoulder and this time Bret allowed himself to be led into the sitting room. Once they were back with Beau, Ben sat down in front of the boys. "An emetic is a medicine that makes you vomit."

A look of sheer horror came to Bret's face. "They're making Bart sick on purpose?" Bret jumped to his feet, he didn't know what he was going to do, but he had to help his brother. He didn't care what Doc or Pappy or Uncle Ben said he wasn't going to let them do that to Bart.

Ben grabbed his arm before he got too far. "You can't go up there, Bret."

"I have to! They can't do that to him!"

Ben stood and steered Bret back to the sofa. Sitting Bret back down, Ben put both his hands on Bret's shoulders. "Believe me, Bret; Beau didn't want to do it. He didn't have a choice."

"Then why _is_ he doing it?"

"He's doing it to help Bart. He wants Bart to get better just as much as you do."

"How does that help?" Bret asked bitterly. He'd seen Bart get sick before Pappy had thrown him out and just like always it had made Bart miserable. He couldn't imagine how terrible his little brother must be feeling now.

"I don't know, Bret," Ben answered him honestly. "But it's what Doc said needed to be done and I trust that Doc knows what's he's talking about."

Bret looked back to the stairs wishing more than anything he was with his brother. How was he supposed to take care of Bart if he couldn't see him? "Bart hates throwing up," Bret mumbled. "Pappy should know that."

"He does know that. He also knows what it feels like because he's had to take the same thing before."

"Pappy's done this before?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Before you were born."

"Did it help?"

Ben nodded. "Yes, it did."

Bret sighed heavily, his gaze going to the stairs once more. If Pappy had done this before and been alright, maybe it wasn't as bad as it had it had first sounded. "Bret," Ben continued. "Your pappy wouldn't be letting Doc do this if he didn't think it was what was best for Bart."

"But Bart hates it," Bret protested.

"Your pappy cares about you and Bart. He would never do anything, or let anyone else do anything, to hurt one of you. Do you believe that?"

"Yes," Bret answered quietly after a while.

Ben didn't like the hesitation he'd sensed in Bret when he'd asked that question, but he wasn't going to explore that any further right now. He gave Bret's shoulder a squeeze. "Then can you wait for Doc to come and talk to us?"

"Yes," Bret repeated. It wasn't as though he had any choice.

xxxxxx

Ipecac would work quickly Doc had said, and Beauregard wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. He wanted to get the unpleasantness over as soon as possible, for both his and Bart's sake, but he wasn't in a hurry to sit through the effects the draught would have on Bart. But for better or for worse, Doc was correct. It was only minutes after the ipecac went down that the ordeal started, and the next hour and a half were hell for Beauregard. As a parent, having to watch his son be sick was painful enough, knowing that he was partially responsible for it – even if it was to help - was like a knife in his heart. And the look Bart gave him every time he finished a bout of retching was like dumping salt in the wound. It was a look that begged for comfort, but there was always a trace of betrayal in his eyes. A look of distrust that told Beauregard Bart hadn't forgotten it was his pappy that had forced him to drink the emetic that was turning his stomach inside out. The torment was made all the worse when the tears that Bart had been threatening to spill all day finally came.

Bart was once again hanging over the pot and the sound of his retching mixed with his sobs was almost more than Beauregard could stand. Doc was handling the pot to allow Beauregard to give Bart what comfort he could, but it was a task Beauregard felt woefully inadequate for. Even now it seemed like rubbing Bart's back wasn't nearly enough comfort for the suffering Bart was enduring.

Bart coughed several times and spit bile into the pot before Doc wiped his face off with a damp rag. After Doc took the pot away once again, Beauregard pulled Bart back to his chest. "I'm tired, Pappy." A painful sounding cough followed the words.

"It's almost over, Bart," Beauregard crooned as Bart's tears of exhaustion wet his shirt.

Bart pulled away and took a shuddering breath. "It hurts."

"I know, son," Beauregard whispered, wiping a tear off Bart's cheek. He could only imagine how irritated Bart's throat had to be by now. "It'll be over soon."

Bart stared at his father plaintively, his lip trembling. After a moment, he laid his head back against Beauregard's chest. "I don't wanna do it again," he mumbled pitifully.

Beauregard swallowed the lump growing in his throat and looked to Doc, finding nothing but sympathy in the older man's eyes. "How much longer?" he asked the doctor quietly, hoping he had been right when he'd told Bart they were almost done. He didn't think Bart could take much more, and he knew he couldn't take much more.

"Shouldn't be long now," Doc answered softly. "It's hardly productive now. It will ease up soon and he should be able to get some rest."

That was the best thing Beauregard had heard all day and when he felt the muscles in Bart's stomach contract once more he fervently hoped it would be the last time. He didn't quite get his wish, but it wasn't long before the pot Doc held for his young patient was catching nothing but bile, and that was when anything at all came out. Bart hacked and coughed as his stomach tried to continue expelling his body's contents, but there was simply nothing left to come up. The heaves were almost more painful to listen to than the vomiting had been, but it was still a relief to Beauregard when they finally came. It was an even bigger relief when the spasms began to calm.

"Do you still feel sick, son?" Beauregard asked after Bart had been sitting quietly for several minutes.

Bart merely shook his head, too worn out and his throat too irritated to answer audibly.

Beauregard sent the man across from him a questioning look and Doc gave an affirmative nod. "I think we're done."

Beau sighed with relief and kissed the top of Bart's head. "It's over, Bart."

Bart wiped the remaining traces of tears from his eyes and looked up at his father. "Do I have to do it again?" he asked, his already scratchy voice carrying an added tremble.

"No, son, you're done, and you did good." The only response Bart gave was to sigh and try to find a comfortable position in his pappy's lap. "You want to lay down?" he asked. Bart nodded.

"Wait," Doc called. "Don't let him get too comfortable yet. He still needs this."

Beauregard took the glass Doc offered. "What's this?"

"Castor oil," Doc replied.

"Oh." Beauregard grimaced; he had forgotten about that part. Castor oil was nasty stuff, but it was the standard follow-up for an ipecac treatment like Bart had just gone through. "Bart," he said giving his son's shoulder a gentle nudge. "You have to drink one more thing."

Bart looked at Doc, his face full of trepidation. "What?"

"It's castor oil," the doctor told him. "I'm afraid it doesn't taste very well, but there's not much of it. And it won't make you throw up."

Bart had a look of dread on his face when Beauregard showed him the oil, but he didn't protest the administration. Whether that was because he knew it wouldn't do any good or he didn't have the energy to argue Beauregard didn't know, but it was nice not to have to force it this time. After the oil, Doc was ready with a glass of water, and that was something Bart was only too happy to drink.

After Bart had washed away the taste of the oil, Beau laid him down and tucked the blankets in around him. "I'm gonna talk to Doc for a minute. I'll be right back."

Doc was waiting over by Bret's bed and offered Beauregard a grim smile when the other man joined him. "Holding up alright?"

Beauregard grunted. "Where do we go from here?"

"We wait. There's not much that can be done right now except keep him comfortable. The rash should come within the next twenty-four hours, and the fever _will_ get higher. Try to get him to drink but don't let him eat anything heavy just yet. You can give him some broth or soup later if he feels like it, but nothing solid. I'll be back over tomorrow to take another look at him. I should be able to tell you more about what we need to do for him by then."

Beauregard blew out a breath and nodded. "Alright, Doc. Thanks very much."

Doc shook Beau's hand and gathered up his coat and bag. "Try not to worry, Beauregard. I know that's not easy when it's your boy, but he's strong. And this isn't the worst it could be."

"Yeah."

After Doc left Beauregard went back over to the bed and sat down in the chair. Don't worry was easier said than done. It didn't matter how hard he tried, he couldn't banish the memories of those last few days with Belle. Memories of how terribly sick she had been, and how powerless he had been. It wasn't the same thing; rationally he knew that but seeing Bart lying there. . . . He took a shuddering breath, Bart would be fine. He had to be.

"Pappy?"

Again Beauregard was startled by Bart's voice. "Yeah?" he asked smiling as he brushed Bart's hair back. Bart didn't say anything else, just looked at Beau. "What's wrong, boy?"

"You're not leaving?" Bart asked after a long pause.

The question pierced him again, but Beauregard tried no to show it. He just shook his head. "No, son, I'm not leaving." He leaned over and kissed Bart's forehead. "Try and get some sleep. I'm not goin' anywhere."


	9. Whose Fault is it Anyway

Beauregard stayed by Bart's bed the rest of the afternoon. The only time he wasn't occupying the chair were moments like now when he felt he couldn't sit still one-second longer, then he would get up and restlessly pace the room. It was odd that a man who routinely sat at poker tables for hours on end would feel the need to move around, but Beau had discovered that sitting at a poker game, and sitting by a sickbed were two very different things. There was no action here; no battle of wits, no excitement, no winning, just his son, burning with a fever. Sighing, Beauregard paused his pacing and looked to his son. Bart was sleeping now, which was the way Beauregard had decided he liked it.

It had been a hard day so far, for both of them. Bart was in absolute misery now as his fever kept him feeling both stuffy and chilled at the same time, and his cough was an almost constant companion. Doc had said there wasn't much to be done except try to keep Bart comfortable which Beauregard had quickly discovered wasn't an easy task. He could keep Bart bundled up, and keep a cold cloth on his head, but beyond that he was nearly powerless. The only real relief Bart could find was when he was asleep, but even though he was worn out sleep didn't come easily; the fever and the cough made him too uncomfortable to rest much. The only positive thing that Beauregard could note was the fact that is seemed Bart's nausea had left him. Bart had complained of feeling slightly unsettled a time or two since Doc had left, but there hadn't been anymore vomiting so Beauregard wrote the sick feeling off as a lingering effect of the ipecac or a result of Bart's general discomfort.

Beauregard was tired too, emotionally, mentally, and physically. Guilt for not seeing what was happening sooner was still gnawing at him and worry over what could happen was eating him alive. Since Doc had left, Beauregard had found a new problem to think on as well, Bret.

When he had finally gotten across to Bret this morning that being told to leave Bart's sickroom wasn't a suggestion, Bret had gotten a look in his eye. It was something Beauregard hadn't given much thought to at the time, he'd been too concerned with Bart, but now that he had more time to think about it, he realized what that gleam had been. It had been the same look Bart had given him while he'd been going through his treatment, betrayal. It was hard seeing that from one of his boys today, seeing it from both of them . . . . At least he understood why Bart had given him that look, Bret he wasn't sure about. Maybe the boy was thinking 'pappy' should have done something to help his brother before he'd gotten this bad. Well, Beauregard agreed with him.

Beauregard sighed as he continued to pace. He wished he himself could have explained things to Bret earlier; explain why he wasn't allowed to stay, explain what the next few days would likely hold for them. He was only human, however, and he could only be in one place at a time, and right now the place he needed to be was by Bart. Bart needed him more, and Bret had Ben. Ben would be able to handle any explanations that might be needed.

Beauregard's musings were interrupted when he suddenly yawned. He'd been awake almost continuously for over twenty-four hours, and it was starting to get to him. Last night he'd left soon after getting the boys in bed, and he'd fallen on his own just before dawn this morning. Barely an hour had gone by before Bret had shaken him awake with the news that Bart was sick, and having been otherwise occupied since then, sleep had been the last thing on his mind. Deciding to resume his vigil in the chair, Beauregard went back to Bart's bedside. He slouched down and tried to find a position that was remotely comfortable for the long wait ahead of him. It wasn't easy, the chair obviously hadn't been made for long hours of sitting and watching, but he was finally able to find something that didn't kill his back, for the moment anyway.

Wearily rubbing his eyes, Beauregard looked at Bart. He wondered how long this reprieve would last. It wasn't likely to be long, but at least for a brief time he had a moment where he didn't have to try and cool a fevered brow while Bart told him how cold he was, a moment when he didn't feel helpless and worthless as his son battled a sickness he was powerless to stop. Sitting up straight once more he leaned over to brush Bart's hair back and check his fever once again. The skin was still too hot, and beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. Beauregard grimaced, Bart looked so uncomfortable even in sleep, but there was nothing he could do right now. Nothing except be here, which was exactly what he planned to do.

Beauregard gently wiped Bart's face and tucked the blankets around him again before he slumped back in his chair. Weariness was pulling at him and Beauregard let his eyes drift shut. Perhaps he could get just a little sleep before Bart woke and demanded more attention.

XXXXXX

After Bart's treatment, which Bret was still having a hard time coming to terms with, Doc came down and met with them in the sitting room to try and explain exactly what was wrong with Bart. He explained things better than Uncle Ben, but there was still a lot that didn't make sense to Bret.

"Why did he get sick?" Bret asked, a note of pleading in his voice.

"It just happens, Bret," Doc told him. "There is no reason."

Bret wished he could believe that, but he knew the truth. It was his fault Bart was sick. He had wished last night that he didn't have to take care of Bart anymore, and he was getting his wish. And it was just like Mama had said, 'Be careful what you wish for. Sometimes things aren't as nice as you think they'll be'. "Is he gonna get better?" he asked the doctor.

"We certainly hope so." Bret sighed, that wasn't what he'd been hoping for. "Bret," Doc quickly added. "What Bart has isn't what your mama had. We didn't know how to help your mama because we didn't know what was wrong. But we do know about Scarlet Fever, and people recover from it all the time."

"Okay," Bret finally responded softly.

"There is one more thing I want to talk to you and Beau about before I leave." Doc paused and gave both of the boys a serious look, but when he started speaking again, he focused on Bret. "Neither one of you can go up to see Bart for the next few days. Scarlet Fever is contagious and the last thing I, or either one of your pas, want is for one of you to get sick too. Do you both understand that?"

Beau immediately nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Bret?" Doc asked when he didn't receive an answer from the older boy.

"Yes, sir," Bret replied begrudgingly.

Doc nodded his satisfaction before smiling grimly. "Try not to worry Bret, okay." Bret did his best to return the smile and Doc gave his shoulder a pat. "Ben," he called getting to his feet. "I've got other things to take care of, but I'll be back tomorrow. Send for me if you should need me before then." Uncle Ben shook Doc's hand and they both walked outside.

Once they were alone again Beau turned to Bret. "He's gonna be alright, Bret."

"How do you know?" Bret didn't mean to sound snappy, but he did, and he immediately felt guilty. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's alright," Beau said.

"But how do you know?" Bret asked again softening his voice this time.

"I . . . well, I – I don't know. But I'm pretty sure he will."

Bret sighed; his cousin's answer hadn't made him feel much better. "I think they know something, Beau. Something they're not telling us."

Beau's brows furrowed. "Like what?"

Bret shook his head as he looked in the direction of the stairs. "I don't know but . . . He's really sick, Beau. Really sick, and I . . . ." Bret stopped. He couldn't tell Beau it was all his fault Bart was sick. Finally, he sighed again and turned back to his cousin. "Pappy's worried."

Beau didn't reply, but his look became more concerned, he didn't need to hear Bret say anything else. Beau had already lost his mother and his aunt; even at his young age he understood that sometimes people didn't get better.

Bret didn't feel like talking anymore and didn't offer any more of his thoughts or concerns, and after a couple of minutes of silence, Beau got up to follow his father outside, leaving Bret alone to ponder his guilty feelings.

Hearing the front door close behind his cousin, Bret curled up on the sofa and thought about earlier, when Pappy had thrown him out of the bedroom. Bret winced at the memory of Pappy sighing heavily before softly uttering "Breton". His tone had been exasperated and his eyes, well, Bret had plainly seen Pappy was mad at him. Pappy didn't get mad at him, not really; it was Bart that usually got the full name and the looks. He had pushed a little harder today than he normally would, Bret would admit that, but he didn't think it had been bad enough for Pappy to be mad at him.

A few minutes later Bret heard his uncle and cousin come back in and Ben called to him from the front door. "Bret, come in the kitchen."

Sighing Bret made his way into the kitchen where he found his uncle rummaging through the pantry. "You hungry?" Ben asked looking back at him.

"No," Bret replied honestly. Usually, Bret was always ready to eat, but he had no interest in food today.

"Well, we're eating anyway."

"Are you going to cook?" Bret asked skeptically.

"Yes, " Ben answered slightly disgruntled.

Bret wasn't sure how well that would work and exchanged a look with Beau, who also looked a little uncertain about the situation. "Can you cook?" He'd never known Uncle Ben to cook; the only reason they ate supper at his house every night was because he had a housekeeper that cooked for him.

Ben turned back around. "I'm better at it than your pappy. Make sure there's wood in the stove."

Bret really didn't think being better than Pappy was saying a lot, most anybody would be a better cook than Pappy, but he checked the stove anyway and had it ready to light when his uncle was ready.

Surprisingly, Uncle Ben managed to make them a passable meal of bacon, eggs, and toast – he couldn't make biscuits – and Bret was surprised to find he felt a little better afterwards. Not good, but better. After they ate Ben suggested they go outside and play for a while, but Bret wanted to stay as close to his brother as he could, so they went back into the sitting room where Ben continued their education concerning stacked decks. Bret really didn't feel like poker any more than he felt like playing outside and resolved he wouldn't pay attention to anything his uncle said.

Despite Bret's intentions to not listen, he couldn't help but be drawn into what his uncle was saying and soon found himself participating in the 'lesson'. With his attention on the cards, Bret thought less about the worry he had for his brother and the guilt he was feeling over his sickness. Around supper, the three went back in the kitchen where Ben managed to make pretty good flapjacks, ignoring Beau when he said flapjacks were for breakfast. After supper poker resumed and they played until once again the younger ones simply couldn't play any longer, then it was time for bed, and Bret was left with nothing to keep his thoughts off the guilt he was feeling.

Ben tucked them into Pappy's bed, as it was the only bed not under quarantine, and lying where his father usually slept, surrounded by his familiar scent, Bret found it especially hard to not think about Pappy and Bart. He wrapped himself up tightly in one of Pappy's quilts – one Mama had made – and again tried to figure out why Pappy had been angry with him. As much as he didn't want to think it, Bret could come up with only one answer to that question. Somehow Pappy knew Bart getting sick was his fault. He wasn't sure how Pappy knew, but he certainly wouldn't have given Bret that look just because he'd had to tell him to leave more than once. A fresh wave of guilt washed over Bret and he again felt tears burning his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mama," he whispered, not wanting to wake up Beau. "I'm not tired of taking care of Bart. I wanna look after him. Please, Mama, I don't want Bart to die." He couldn't keep the tears in any longer and just like last night, Bret found himself burying his face in the pillow, trying to be a quiet as he could.

Bart couldn't die. They were just beginning to get used to Mama being gone. What would he and Pappy do without Bart? A terrible thought suddenly came to Bret. If Pappy really thought Bart being sick was his fault, and Bart died . . . . It took everything Bret had to contain the sob that wanted to escape. Pappy would hate him if Bart died. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, Mama. Please tell God I didn't mean it. I don't want my brother to die."

Bret was so riddled with guilt now he hardly knew what to do. He didn't even care if he woke his cousin up anymore; he just needed somebody to understand it had all been a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake. "Please don't let Bart die," he prayed. "I promise I'll look after him the rest of my life, just please don't let him die." The desperate prayer ended with a deep, throaty cough.


	10. Eruption

Beauregard woke with a start, unsure what had roused him. He was trying to get his bearings when a soft moan drew his attention to the bed. Straightening, Beauregard leaned forward, wincing at the twinge he felt in his back. "Bart?" Bart's eyes were closed but at the sound of his father's voice he tossed restlessly. "Bart?" Beau asked again.

His only answer was another moan, but Bart did slowly open his eyes. Those eyes still looked pitifully sick, and they twisted Beauregard's heart, but he forced a smile. "How you doin', boy?" he asked, wiping at the sweat that was once again dotting Bart's brow.

Bart coughed. "It's still cold." His voice was even scratchier now than it had been before.

"Does your throat still hurt?" Bart nodded. Heaving a sigh, Beauregard picked up the glass that was sitting on the nightstand and helped Bart take a drink. Gently placing his son's head back on the pillow, Beauregard re-wet the cloth in the basin next to the bed and processed to wipe Bart's face and neck down again. It didn't seem like much, but Bart was obviously soothed by his father's actions. As Beauregard moved down Bart's face, Bart turned his head slightly exposing his neck and what Beauregard saw made his heart skip a beat. On the right side of Bart's neck was a cluster of small red spots.

Beauregard tried not to react to the sight as he finished wiping Bart's face. He had known this was coming, he'd been looking for it all day, but to actually see the rash appear was unsettling. Some part of him had hoped that Doc had been mistaken with his diagnosis, and all that Bart really had was a simple fever that would be gone in a day or two. The sight of the rash dashed all those hopes. Doc was right, his son had Scarlatina, and things were going to get a lot worse.

"Do you want some broth?" Beauregard asked, remembering what the doctor had said about getting Bart to drink. Bart soundlessly shook his head. "Is your stomach still bothering you?" Again Bart shook his head.

Beauregard knew Bart could probably use something in his stomach. He hadn't eaten at all today, and thanks to the ipecac his stomach was now completely empty. Broth would help him more than just water, but if Bart didn't want it he wouldn't push the matter; not yet anyway. It was getting late and he didn't want to disturb the whole house by banging around in the kitchen if the boys were already in bed. It could wait until morning. "Can you drink some more water for me?" Bart nodded.

Beauregard helped Bart take another drink, and settled him back in; unfortunately that was about all he could do. He did what he could to make Bart comfortable, but he couldn't totally stop the restless tossing or the occasional moan. He hoped Doc had some more insight on ways to help after seeing Bart tomorrow because Beauregard wasn't sure he was going to be able to stand sitting here for the next week and be able to do no more than what he was doing now. After several minutes, Bart turned his fevered eyes on Beauregard.

"Pappy?"

"What?"

"Can I . . . " Bart stopped causing Beau to prompt him.

"What is it, son?"

"Can I . . . sit in your lap again?"

Without a bit **of** hesitation, Beauregard moved over to the bed and scooped Bart up. It took Bart a minute to get comfortable, but he soon had his head back against Beauregard's shoulder. Beauregard smiled wistfully. "Try to go back to sleep, son," he said rubbing his thumb down Bart's cheek.

Bart didn't reply, but Beauregard soon felt him relax as sleep claimed him once more. Looking down, Beauregard noticed the dreaded red rash had started to appear on Bart's cheek as well. Tightening his grip on his son, Beauregard took a deep breath. How was he going to get through this? And what on earth would he do if Bret came down with this? The idea was almost too terrible to think about and Beauregard felt a knot grow in his stomach.

"I don't think I can do this, Belle," he whispered quietly. Jennings had told him what to expect if they were lucky, but Beauregard had noticed the man had deliberately avoided talking about how bad things could get. Beauregard could only assume that meant things could get really bad, perhaps fatal. What would he do without Bart? What would Bret do? That thought was too terrible to think about. There was no way he could handle losing his baby.

' _Stop it_ ,' he firmly ordered himself, feeling his stomach roll. He wouldn't think that way. At least he was going to do his dead-level-best to not think that way. Doc and Ben were right, Bart was tough, he always had been. They just had to get through this, but that was where the problem was. Beauregard didn't know how to get through this. He had promised Belle he would take care of them, that he would raise them up right, and God knew he was trying. He'd felt inadequate many times during the last year-and-a-half, but it had been months since he'd felt this lost. "What do I do, Belle? He needs you. How am I supposed to help him?"

He wasn't expecting an answer and didn't exactly get one now. The answer wasn't from Belle, but there was a small voice in the back of his head that seemed to say, 'You're doing it, Beau. All you have to do is be here for him.'

XXXXXXX

Sunlight was pouring through the window when Bret sluggishly opened his eyes. He blinked in confusion; this wasn't his room. Then he remembered he was in Pappy's room, and why he was in Pappy's room. Miserably, Bret wrapped Mama's quilt around him and thought about Bart. He wondered if Bart was any better today, or if he was worse. He wondered if Bart knew why he wasn't there to take care of him, and if Pappy could really take care of Bart by himself. He didn't figure he'd find out the answers. He also didn't figure there was much point in asking Uncle Ben if he could go upstairs today. Sighing, Bret rolled over on his back.

Bret was staring at the ceiling wondering if there was any way he could get upstairs today when his cousin began to stir. "What time is it?" Beau asked rubbing his eyes.

"I don't kn . . . ." Bret's eyes widened as he inhaled sharply. "No." Jumping from the bed, he gave his cousin a hard nudge. "Beau get up now."

"Why?"

"Because we're late," Bret cried. He let out a grunt of frustration. "Miss Potter's gonna kill me."

"Bret, keep it down. There's no call to wake the dead." Bret turned and found his uncle standing in the doorway; feet bare, shirt untucked, and hair disheveled. "Why are y'all up so early anyway?" Ben asked looking at Bret curiously.

"We have to get to school," Bret said looking around the room for his clothes. "We're already late and . . . ."

"You're not going to school today," Ben cut in.

Bret halted his frenzied search. "What?"

"We're not?" Beau asked.

"No."

"What's Miss Potter gonna say about that?" Bret asked. It was bad enough Pappy was mad at him; he didn't want his teacher mad too.

"She's not going to say anything. The school's closed for the next few days."

Beau brightened some. "Really?"

Bret wasn't so easily pacified, that sounded too good to be true. "Why?"

Ben yawned before nodding in the direction of the hallway. "Because Bart's sick."

"Really?" Beau asked again, a definite gleam in her eye. He wasn't glad Bart was sick, but he was pleased that something good was coming from his cousin's illness.

Again Bret didn't see things the same way. "The school's closed because of us?" That was all he needed, for Miss Potter to have to close the school because of the Mavericks.

"No," Ben told him. "The school's closed because if Bart got sick someone else could too. It's not Bart's fault he got it first."

"So Miss Potter's not gonna be mad at us?"

"Of course not. Why would she be?" He ran a hand through his hand and stifled another yawn. "Now, y'all go back to sleep or go take care of the horses or something."

"Can we?" Beau asked. "Go back to sleep."

Ben sighed. "I wish you would. Or at least keep **it** down."

As Ben went back into the sitting room, Bret slowly sank down on the edge of the bed. He was more worried now than he had been before. Keeping him and Beau away from Bart was one thing, but keeping them away from the whole town was something else.

"Ain't you gonna back to sleep?" Beau asked, flopping back down on the bed.

"No." He sighed. "I'm gonna go take care of the horses."

Bret got dressed and headed outside to get started on the chores. It may have been early for Ben, but it was later than he was used to sleeping on most days, and he knew he would never get back to sleep anyway. Just like yesterday, he started with the cow then gathered the eggs and saw to the horses. After putting out the oats, Bret stayed by the corral and watched the horses, paying special attention **to** the mare Pappy had bought for Bart last summer. Bart loved his horse. Would he ever get to ride her again? Would Bart ever be able to go fishing with him and Beau or play poker again? Bret sighed, blinking back tears again. Had his prayers last night done any good?

The mare came over and stuck her head over the fence nuzzling Bret. Smiling Bret reached up and stroked her cheek. "Bart can't come out right now, girl. He'll be back soon. I hope."

He rubbed the mare until his own gelding came up and nipped her on the hip. She kicked out and it wasn't long before the two horses were chasing each other around the corral. They played like that a lot, and Bret thought the two animals liked to be together about as much as he liked being with Bart. The little mare would be lost without Bret's gelding to nip at her all the time; just like he would be lost without Bart. A weight settled in Bret's chest like he hadn't felt since Mama had died. Bart just had to get better.

Heaving a sigh, Bret turned to go back inside. He was almost to the house when Doc pulled up.

"Morning, Bret," the doctor said climbing down from his buggy. "How are you today?"

Bret did his best to smile. "Alright, I guess."

Doc put a hand on his shoulder and peered down at him. "Are you feelin' alright?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you felt bad at all?"

"No." He had coughed some last night, and his throat had been a little scratchy this morning, but neither one was bothering him right now. And he didn't feel sick. "You gonna see to Bart now?"

Doc smiled. "I am."

"You'll tell us about him when you're done won't you?"

"Yes, sir. You can count on it."

They both went inside, Doc disappearing upstairs and Bret into the kitchen. "Doc's here," he said when he saw Ben at the stove.

"Good. I just took some broth up; Beauregard's gonna try to get him to eat."

"You saw Bart? Is he okay?"

Ben shrugged. "Really, Bret, not much has changed since yesterday. I'm sure Doc can tell us more when he's done."

Bret went over and looked back up the stairs, sending up another silent prayer. ' _Please, God. Let him be better. And let Pappy not be mad anymore.'_

"Hey, Bret."

Bret whirled around surprised to find Uncle Ben almost right behind him. "I wasn't goin' up," he said, and this time he meant it. He'd been so absorbed in his prayers he hadn't even thought about trying to sneak in to see Bart. Of course, he wouldn't have gotten very far with Doc in the room.

Ben gave him an odd look. "I didn't think you were. I've got breakfast started. Why don't you go get your cousin up? Tell him he's been sleepin' long enough." Bret hesitated but finally nodded. "And if he complains," Uncle Ben continued. "Tell him I said now."

At those words, a smile almost came to Bret's face. Before going back to Pappy's room, Bret gave the upstairs one more glance. ' _Please.'_


	11. Not the Worst

The first thing the next morning Beauregard had Ben bring some broth up; he wanted to get something with a little substance in Bart. It couldn't do anything but help, and Beauregard wanted to get Bart better fed before things got worse. Bart wasn't crazy about the idea of trying to drink the broth when his father first offered it and Beauregard though he saw a lingering spark of distrust in Bart's eyes, but he did his best to ignore it. What he'd done yesterday had been for Bart's own good. Bart didn't get that yet, Beauregard didn't expect him to, but he hoped that when Bart was older he would understand. He would certainly understand if he ever had a child of his own.

Like yesterday, Beauregard had gotten back on the bed with Bart and was once again holding a mug for him. The difference was, this time Beau didn't feel like he was having to force it down Bart's throat. "Take it slow, boy," Beauregard warned. Bart took a tentative sip and Beauregard pulled the cup back. Bart hadn't had anything but Doc's emetic in his stomach in over a day; the last thing Beauregard wanted was for Bart to get sick from drinking too fast. After a moment with no ill effects, Beauregard offered the cup again, relieved when Bart seemed more willing to drink. He still wanted to take things slow, but it was nice to see that Bart, sick as he was, had some appetite.

Bart had almost gotten through half the cup when Beauregard heard him whimper softly. At once Beauregard abandoned the cup of broth and jerked up the chamber pot from its place on the floor. Looking back, Beauregard would have to say it was some sixth sense that spurred him into action because the sound itself wasn't very telling, but the pot was exactly what Bart needed. No sooner had Beauregard placed it in front of Bart then the boy's stomach rebelled, and everything Beauregard had just got in Bart, come out.

Beauregard mumbled a curse under his breath as Bart sat panting, his head over the pot. This was exactly what he'd been afraid would happen. He waited a minute to see if the episode would continue; when it didn't he pulled the pot away, hoping that would be the end. "Bart," he said reaching for the cloth so he could wipe Bart's face.

Bart had kept his head down and was still panting slightly, but looked up when he heard his name. His eyes were teary again and the tone of his voice was close to begging. "Pappy, please."

Beauregard would swear he physically felt the air leave his lungs. The hint of distrust that had been in Bart's eyes a short time ago was now full out betrayal. Bart thought he was responsible for this. Beauregard was indignant for a moment before realizing Bart had the right. Yesterday he'd made Bart drink something that had made him sick. This morning he'd gotten Bart to drink something, and soon after Bart was again sick. The thought was perfectly logical to a seven-year-old, and perfectly heartbreaking to him. "There's nothin' in it, Bart. I promise."

Bart still looked suspicious. "I don't want anymore," he said quietly almost as though he was afraid he wasn't going to have much of a say in it one way or the other.

Beauregard nodded. "Okay." It was going to be a little while before Bart trusted him again, but he figured a good way to start rebuilding that trust was to not push anything that wasn't necessary. "You don't have to," he said putting an arm around Bart and pulling him closer. He just hoped Doc arrived soon, and that the man would be able to settle Bart's stomach. Having this happen every time he tried to get something inside Bart was going to be a nightmare for both of them, and eventually Bart would just plain refuse anything that was offered.

Bart leaned his head over on his father's side and Beauregard's hand automatically came to rest on his son's neck. His thumb was unconsciously rubbing Bart's neck when he felt the boy tense up. After yesterday, he was almost an expert on the signs of this particular form of distress and the pot was once again in hand when Bart needed it. There wasn't much left to come back up, and somehow that made it even worse for Bart. Beauregard sighed as he set the pot back on the floor and reached for the cloth to wipe Bart's face again. He was sorry he'd even suggested Bart try to drink something besides water. He should have waited for Doc, but how was he to know Bart's stomach would still be uneasy? Doc hadn't said a word about that yesterday.

As he was cleaning Bart's face, Beau noticed the back of his nightshirt was now damp with sweat. Due to the fever Bart had been sweating most of the night anyway, but the excursion caused by his vomiting had only made it worse. Wanting to keep his son as comfortable as possible; Beauregard helped Bart pull it off.

"I'm going to get you another one," he told Bart, tossing the shirt on the floor; the start of another pile of things to be washed. Beauregard didn't even bother to look through Bart's things for anything clean. The nightshirt he'd just taken off Bart was the third one Bart had worn since yesterday morning, and he doubted Bart had anything left to change into. Instead, he got one of Bret's. There wasn't that much difference in their sizes, and the way things had been going, Bart probably wouldn't have it on long anyway.

He was going back towards the bed when a soft knocked sounded on the door followed by, "Beauregard?"

Beauregard breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the voice of Doctor Jennings and quickly opened the door. The older man stepped into the room and cast a clinical eye over the elder Maverick before turning his attention to the younger one. "Bart," Doc said with a smile as he sat down. "How are you feeling this morning?" If the man was at all surprised by the bright red color now gracing Bart's cheeks and neck he didn't show it.

"It's still cold," Bart replied hoarsely. "And then it's hot."

"Does your throat still hurt?"

Bart nodded. "And Pappy - " A cough cut him off. " - Pappy made me sick again."

Beauregard flinched at that statement and Doc turned to him with a questioning look. "How's that?"

"I tried to get him to drink some broth a while ago," Beauregard said his tone a bit more defensive than he'd intended it to be. "It didn't go well."

"So you're still feeling sick?" Doc asked, the question directed at Bart. He smiled grimly when Bart nodded an affirmative. "That wasn't your pa's fault, son. That was your body still acting up. Your pa wants you better and you need the broth to help you do that. I've got something that will settle your stomach and help you drink without getting sick." Bart didn't reply, but that suspicious look came back to his eyes. "I'd like to look you over first," Doc continued, choosing like Beau to ignore Bart's look. "Can I see your throat again?" Bart obediently opened his mouth.

Doc looked at Bart's tonsils with a critical eye and gently palpated the outside of his throat causing Bart to wince. "Did that hurt?" Doc was answered with a nod. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again today."

Doc pulled his thermometer from his bag and without even being told Bart again opened his mouth. He even elicited a smile from the doctor when he lifted his tongue. "I'm glad you're remembering," Doc said. "You keep that where it is and I'll be right back."

Getting up he went over to where Beauregard stood waiting, an anxious look on his face. "When did the rash start?" he asked.

"Last night."

"Has it spread yet?"

"I haven't looked. I wanted him to eat something and then he got sick . . . ." He trailed off as Doc started nodding. "So what's it look like?"

"Throat's a little swollen, as are the tonsils, but overall neither is as bad as it could be."

"I thought you didn't the way his tonsils looked," Beauregard cut in.

"For healthy tonsils I don't like the way they look, for Scarlet Fever they're better than they could be." Doc was trying to be delicate. Beauregard was in a better frame of mind than he had been yesterday, but he was still on edge and the last thing he needed was for Doc to start spewing words like angina, dropsy, and mortification. Not yet anyway. The livid color of the rash on Bart's face was a good indication that Bart wasn't going to get off easy, did the poor boy ever, but judging from the way his tonsils looked at the moment, Jennings was still optimistic.

"Now," he continued when the oldest Maverick was once again silent. "As I was saying, neither is a bad as it could be. "I didn't give him the emetic for his throat, but I think it helped with it."

"Really?"

"There are ulcers on the tonsils," Doc explained. "Vomiting is sometimes the best way to rid the throat of the sloughs when they come. I think his treatment yesterday, and what he's done today, has been in his best interest."

Beauregard felt a bit of tension leave him with the affirmation that the ipecac had done some good, but he was in no hurry to repeat it. "We won't have to do it again?" he asked, paling some at the mere thought of having to put Bart through that again.

"I certainly hope not. Vomiting is less than pleasant under the best of circumstances; with the ulcers in his throat it may be downright painful for him. I'm gonna do everything in my power to keep him from having to repeat it. What I am going to do, is get him some sulfate of magnesia, that should help the nausea. And we need to try and get some of the swelling in his throat down; I'll make a poultice for that. Once that's taken care of it will hopefully be a matter of watching him and letting the fever run its course." Doc paused and took a breath. "Do you have any wine?"

Beauregard shook his head. "No, I don't." He wondered why the man had asked, Doc knew he didn't drink.

"What about Ben?"

"I doubt it."

"Once the swelling goes down, watered down wine is a beneficial and usually pleasant treatment; I'll bring some the next time I'm out. But first, let's get the swelling down." He went back over to Bart and checked the thermometer. "It's up a little from yesterday, just over one-oh-three."

Just like the rash, Beauregard had known that was coming, and just like the rash he hated it. "Is that bad?"

Doc sighed. "Not as bad as it could be." There was a good chance the fever would get worse too, but like before, Doc didn't think Beauregard or Bart needed to hear all the nitty gritty details yet. "Go ahead and get him dressed," Doc said abruptly changing subjects.

Beauregard looked down to the shirt he was holding, and twisting in his fists. He'd almost forgotten he hadn't given it to Bart yet. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Sit up, Bart," he said gently pulling Bart up, surprised when Bart actually helped push himself upright.

Beauregard and Jennings both took advantage of Bart's chest and abdomen being exposed to quickly look him over. It was another heart-stopping moment for Beau when he saw another one of those dreaded red patches coloring Bart's right side, just below his ribcage. Like last night, he tried not to show how painful seeing that spot was for him and quickly slipped the nightshirt over Bart's head.

He was tucking Bart back in when he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a gentle but firm, "Beauregard."

Wearily he turned, wondering how long Doc had been calling him. "What?"

Doc once again studied him, with that same look he'd given him when he'd first walked in. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

Beauregard shrugged. "I dozed in the chair a couple of times."

"I said sleep."

Beau sighed. "No. But I'm not leaving him."

It was Doc's turn to sigh. "I didn't ask you to, but there's a whole other bed over there and Bret can't use it right now. Why don't you think about paying it a visit?"

Beauregard shook his head. "Not yet, Doc. He still needs me." The last part was said with a nod towards Bart.

"I understand, but you can only do so much when you're dead on your feet, and I don't think it's counted as leaving when you walk across the room. Just think about that. I'm gonna get some more water so we can get to work."

Beauregard nodded, and when Doc left the room he sank into the chair by Bart's bed with a sigh. It was hard to think about much but the ever growing scarlet rash covering Bart, and the fact that things were still likely to get worse. He knew things were worse today than Doc had been hoping for, but Doc had claimed they weren't as bad as they could be too, and Beau was clinging to that. He looked back to Bart, who was either sleeping or close to it, and laid his hand on the scarlet colored cheek. It wasn't as bad as it could be. He had to remember that and hope it stayed that way.


	12. Guilt Trip

It wasn't long before Doc was back, and again he had Ben with him. Beauregard was surprised to see his brother and gave him a questioning look. Ben merely held up the pitcher of water he had as though that answered everything. Beau understood when he saw that Doc was also carrying water, hot water judging by the steam coming out of the basin. Doc quietly went to work, digging through his bag and mixing things together while Ben set his pitcher down and joined his brother beside Bart's bed.

"How is he?" he asked, his voice soft so as not to disturb his nephew.

"It's Scarlet Fever," Beauregard answered tensely.

"Bret's been really worried about him."

"Ain't we all?"

Ben sighed heavily. "Yeah. Well, Doc knows what he's doin'." Ben knew his brother and recognized that right now, he wasn't going to get anything but tense, half-sarcastic answers out of him. Not having anything else to say, Ben gently squeezed Beauregard's shoulder and left the room.

No sooner had the door shut behind Ben than Doc was beside him, with yet another glass of something. Wearily, Beauregard rubbed his eyes and looked up at the older man. "I hope that helps as much as you claim it's going to."

Doc smiled grimly. "I don't know who looks more apprehensive, you or Bart." Beauregard scoffed. "It really shouldn't do anything but help him," Doc continued. "And I mean help even by Bart's standards."

Beauregard sighed. "Good luck," he said vacating the chair. He knew he wasn't going to be of any help to Doc right now, not after the incident with the broth this morning.

"Bart," Doc said, taking a seat in the chair. He called a couple of more times before Bart finally opened his eyes. Doc leaned forward. "I got something to make you feel better."

Bart's eyes widened somewhat when he saw the glass. "No," he croaked.

"It'll help so you don't get sick anymore; I promise." It took several minutes of persuasive talk, but Doc was able to convince Bart the drink wouldn't do anything to him.

Beauregard had spent the exchange standing quietly off to the side and was almost able to smile when Bart consented to Doc's latest medicine. He hoped Doc was correct about what the magnesia would do; if Bart got sick there was no way he'd trust either one of them again.

When the glass was empty Doc smiled. "Just rest now. I'm going to mix up something that will help your throat, and it's something you won't have to drink." With that, Doc went back to the hot water he'd brought up and again started mixing things together.

Seeing that Bart was comfortable, or as comfortable as he was going to get, Beauregard wandered over to where Doc was working. "What kind of potion is this?"

Doc sent him a look. "It's a poultice, not a potion. It's for his throat; it'll go on his neck. I'll cover it with a warm rag, and hopefully, the inflammation in his throat will go down." Beauregard nodded vaguely. "How you given any more thought to havin' a meetin' with that bed?"

"I'm fine," Beauregard said tensely. Another unamused look came his way, but Doc didn't respond.

Finishing with the poultice, Doc soaked a rag in the hot water and took both over to Bart. "Is your stomach better?" he asked when Bart looked to him. Bart nodded and Doc smiled. "Good. Let me put this on your neck." Having drunk Doc's magnesia and not gotten sick, Bart seemed a little more trusting and lifted his chin some. Doc spread the poultice over Bart's neck, eliciting a wince when his fingers touched a particularly tender spot, but otherwise Bart didn't seem bothered. He even sighed when Doc put the hot rag over the poultice. "Does that feel good?" he asked.

"Mmm-hmmm."

Doc smiled again and patted his shoulder. "Get some sleep if you can." Bart's eyes drifted shut and within minutes he was again dozing.

Beauregard watched his son for a moment then lightly sat on the edge of the bed. "He seems a little more relaxed."

"As do you," Doc replied.

"It makes a difference when your child's not suffering. As much."

"I know."

"So what do we do now?"

"Not much. When the rag cools off I'll change it out, and later we'll try to get some more broth in him, but beyond that, we wait."

The next two hours passed quietly. Doc changed the rag every time it started to cool and applied new poultices twice, and Bart slept. When he woke, Doc took another look at his throat; it was still terribly inflamed, but Bart claimed swallowing wasn't as painful. Beauregard wasn't sure how good that was, but Doc seemed pleased so he tried to be content with even a little improvement. But that small improvement was coupled with an ever growing rash and a fever that showed no signs of improving anytime soon. And those were two facts that were firmly planted in Beauregard's mind.

The last thing Doc did before he got ready to leave was have Ben bring up some more broth; he was determined to get something besides water in Bart's stomach before he left for the day. Bart balked at the suggestion, as both men had known he would, and it took another lengthy talk from Doc and repeated assurances that he wouldn't get sick before Bart was persuaded to try again. The moments that followed were tense, but to everyone's immense relief, particularly Bart's, the liquid stayed where it was supposed to.

Doc was glad to get some substance in Bart, but once that was done he was forced to admit he'd done all he could for one day. Giving Beauregard some instructions on what to do for Bart until tomorrow, and another reminder of the extra bed, Doc Jennings left the sickroom and went to face the rest of the Maverick clan.

XXXXXXX

It was fairly late when the boys were finally tucked into bed that night, and it was an extremely weary Ben that fell onto the sofa in Beauregard's front room. The last two days had been exhausting to say the least, and even with his body used to staying up all night, Ben knew he would have no trouble finding sleep tonight.

Doc had given them a report on Bart when he'd left earlier today, and Ben had been able to tell, Bret hadn't liked what he'd heard. Really it hadn't been a bad report, but it hadn't been particularly good either. The best the man had been able to say was Bart was holding his own. The fever was still high, with no sign of easing, and the bright red rash covered most of his body now, but he was holding his own. He had confided in Ben just before he left that Bart had already moved past the simple stages of the sickness, indicating he wasn't going to get off easy, but things weren't nearly as bad as they could be. The only thing they could really do right now was wait and see. Waiting and seeing seemed to be the part that had really gotten to Bret.

Ben stretched out and sighed. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with his brother and nephew. Both were a nervous wreck and he supposed they had the right, but it wasn't going to be healthy for them, or anyone else in the house, to stay like that too long. There wasn't much he could do about it now, however. Thankfully, Bret was asleep, and with any luck Beauregard was also getting some much-needed rest. That was probably the best thing for them now, and he had to admit, it would be pretty good for him too.

He was lying in the dark room, so close to drifting off when his eyes suddenly popped open. For a long moment, he lay there quietly trying to ascertain what it was that had woken him. He didn't hear anything, but he had a feeling something wasn't right. The longer he lay there, the stronger the feeling got until he finally pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the couch, continuing to listen. Still, there was nothing except . . . . Ben slowly stood and walked towards the stairs. "Bret," he called softly, an inherent paternal sense telling him the boy would be there. When he reached the hallway he saw the shadowy form huddled against the wall and he smiled sadly. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked kneeling beside his nephew.

"No."

"You worried about Bart?"

Bret let out a shaky breath. "Is he getting any better? Or worse? Why won't Doc tell us anything?"

Ben gave Bret's shoulder a nudge. "Come on. If you wanna talk let's go in here."

Bret got to his feet and followed Ben back into the parlor and took a seat on the couch while Ben lit a lamp, illuminating part of the room. He threw the spent match in the fireplace and joined Bret on the sofa. "Now what was that about Doc not telling us anything?"

For a long moment Bret chewed on his bottom lip and studied the floor, but he finally looked up. "Is Bart gonna die? Is that why Doc hasn't told us he's getting better? Because he's not going to?"

Not knowing what kind of turn Bart was going to take, Ben had tried to keep from talking about the particulars of Bart's illness as much as he could. Bret was a child; a mature and level headed child, but a child all the same. That Bret would be concerned about his brother was a given, especially since losing his mother was such a fresh wound, but Ben had seen no reason to tell Bret everything and put any undue stress on him. He was now thinking that had been a mistake. It was fast becoming apparent that Bret took caring for his younger brother more seriously than Ben had realized, and he wasn't just concerned, he was worrying himself sick. Bret needed to be told something if only for his own sanity.

Ben sighed. "Bart is sick, and Scarlet Fever can be very serious, but Doc is doing everything he can for him. There's a chance Bart could get bad, but Doc thinks he's gonna be okay. It gonna take a few days, but we're all hoping everything will end up bein' fine."

Bret seemed to disgust that for a while. Just as Ben thought the answer was going to be enough to satisfy him Bret shook his head. "It's okay, Uncle Ben. I already know."

"Know what?"

"About Bart." Tears filled Bret's eyes. "I didn't mean it. I wouldn't have said it if I knew this was gonna happen."

For a moment, Ben was too stunned by the sight of the tears to respond. It was so unlike Bret to cry; even during the weeks immediately following Belle's death tears had been a rarity. Bret was always the one drying tears and giving comfort, not the one who needed it. But there were certainly tears now, tears that were rapidly becoming sobs. Wordlessly he pulled Bret into a hug. He wasn't exactly sure what Bret was talking about, but regardless, the boy needed some comfort now.

"It was an ac-ac- cident. I didn't – think it would – really hap-happen."

"You didn't think what would happen?"

Bret pulled away and tried to answer, but the sobs were starting to overwhelm him. "I-it's my . . . I-I-I di . . . I'm s-sorry."

"It's alright," Ben told him wrapping him in another hug. "Let it out."

For the next few minutes, that's exactly what Bret did, until he reached the point where his breath was coming in gasps and he was choking on his sobs. "Try to calm down, Bret," Ben soothed. "You can't even breathe," he added, smiling slightly when he heard a somewhat strangled sounding chuckle from Bret.

After several minutes, Bret was able to calm down. A shuddering breath and occasional cough were the only indication of the tears that he'd so easily shed earlier. "Better?" Ben asked. Bret, still clinging to his uncle, nodded. "Now what's got you so upset?"

Fresh tears pooled in Bret's eyes. "He's gonna hate me."

"Who?"

"Pappy."

"Why's he gonna hate you? I mean he's not gonna hate you, but why do you think he will?"

Bret pulled out of the embrace. Ben was going to hate him too when he found out the truth. "When Bart dies," he mumbled.

Ben sighed again. "Bret, Bart's not . . . . " He stopped. He wasn't going to say Bart wasn't going to die because there was a possibility; remote as it was. Ben hoped and prayed Bart came through this, Bret had already lost so much, but he didn't want to end up having lied to Bret if the worst should happen. "Bart's doing alright. Why do you think he's going to die?"

Bret seemed to shrink some. "He is. He's gonna die, and it's gonna be my fault, and Pappy's gonna hate me."

"Bret, look at me." Reluctantly Bret lifted his eyes. "Bart . . . if things should get bad, it's not gonna be your fault. And Beau's certainly not gonna hate you."

Bret started shaking his head. "It is. I said . . . " The start of another sob cut Bret off. "I didn't mean it, Ben. I didn't."

Ben put his hands on his nephew's shoulders. "What didn't you mean?" He was becoming more confused by the second. That Bret was upset was obvious, and it was just as obvious that he was upset by far more than just Bart being sick.

Bret leaned over on his uncle again as his eyes welled up. "I'm sorry. I said I was sorry, but it didn't do any good."

Ben was quiet for a moment. When he felt Bret relax again he took a deep breath. "Talk to me, boy. What's wrong?"

Bret sighed and shifted his position some, but he remained close to Ben. "I try to take care of things, Ben. I do, but it's not good enough. I can't get Bart up in the mornings, and he hardly ever helps with the chores, and Miss Potter's always mad because we're always late for school." He paused and worried his lip with his teeth for a moment before continuing. "She sent a note to Pappy the other day."

"Miss Potter?" Ben already knew this, but he wanted Bret to keep talking.

"Uhh-huh. I think she wanted an answer, but Pappy didn't send one. I don't think he's goin' to either." Bret finally sat up and faced his uncle. "I really do try to take care of Bart, just like Mama and Pappy told me to, but . . . " Bret dropped his eyes. He couldn't look at Ben and say what he was about to. "The other night I said I was tired of taking care of him, and I wished I didn't have to anymore. Now he's sick and it's my fault." Bret bit down on his lip to keep it from trembling. "I'm not gonna hafta take care of him again because he's . . . ." He swiped a hand across his eyes. "I didn't mean it."

"Hey," Ben crooned pulling him close again. "It's not your fault, Bret. Do you understand me? This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. "

"I'm not tired of taking care of him," Bret whispered. "I promise I'm not. I don't want my brother to die."

"It's gonna be okay, Bret; Bart's tough. You didn't do anything to cause this."

Ben didn't know if Bret heard him or not. He never got a reply and eventually sleep took the boy. Not having the heart to wake him, Ben let him stay where he was.

As Bentley looked down on his sleeping nephew, he thought about what Bret had told him and felt a spark of anger towards his brother. Had Bart's care been left solely up to Bret? That seemed unlikely, but that's certainly the way Bret had made it sound. And Beauregard had been almost crazy with grief the first few months. Ben needed more information; hopefully after tonight, Bret would be in better spirits and be able to give it to him. But if Bret was actually saying what Ben thought he was . . . he shook his head; that would have to be dealt with later. They needed to get Bart better first.

Ben pushed Bret's hair off his forehead and smiled. The Mavericks hadn't been brought up particularly religious, and, in general, Ben wouldn't consider himself a praying man. Even he had his moments, though, and now was one of them. "God, I know we ain't on the best of terms, but if you listen to me at all, please let us keep Bart. I don't think this family can take another loss, and I know Bret and Beauregard can't handle it. Please."

Ben leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes with a sigh. He hoped the Almighty had seen fit to hear at least that one prayer from Bentley Maverick.


	13. The Beginning of Sorrows

Sometime in the wee morning hours, Beau had finally taken Doc's advice and spent a few hours on Bret's bed. It had felt good just to lie down for a while, but when he woke around dawn he was afraid that not watching Bart from the chair had been a mistake. Bart looked like he was worse off than he had been when Beauregard had collapsed in the bed, and he couldn't help but feel that wouldn't have happened if he'd been where he was supposed to have been.

Bart's face and neck were still the bright red shade they had been, and that had been joined by the rest of his body. His back was covered, as were most of his arms, and patches of color were also on his chest and belly. His legs seemed to have escaped anything very severe, they were a dull dark pink, but both his feet were the same deep red as his face. The rash wasn't the most concerning, though, Beauregard had been expecting that. It was the restless way Bart kept tossing and moaning. Beauregard was certain Bart was more restless now than he had been at any time during the last three days, and he knew the fever was burning hotter.

"Bart?" he said sitting on the edge of the chair. "Wake up, son." Another moan escaped Bart and he finally opened his eyes. "I need you to drink something," Beau said sliding his arm under Bart and raising him up enough to drink. Bart took several swallows before turning his head away.

Beauregard sighed as he eased his son back down on the bed. Bart was again covered in sweat, but he didn't see the point in trying to get him changed again. Not yet anyway, Bart would just soak those through too, and he wasn't sure it would do anything to make him more comfortable. Maybe after Doc came.

He had wiped the sweat off Bart's face and placed the cloth across his forehead when Bart moaned again and rolled onto his side. "What's wrong, son?"

"'Urts," Bart groaned.

"What hurts?"

Bart's answer was a whimper as he curled up, one arm wrapped around his stomach.

Beauregard read the body language clear enough, and his heart sank. "You feel sick?" he asked, unable to keep the dread out of his voice. He didn't think Bart had enough strength to withstand any more of that.

"No." Bart whimpered again. "Jus' . . . 'urts."

Beauregard wasn't sure if that was good or not. It was certainly good that Bart wasn't feeling sick, but should his stomach be hurting? He sighed again and dropped his head in his hands. He didn't know what to do, or if he should try to do anything before Doc arrived. One thing he did know, he shouldn't have gone to sleep. Of course, he wasn't sure what he would have done had he been awake, but he should have been up anyway.

"Beau?" A soft knock followed.

Beauregard got up and backed up to the door, never taking his eyes off Bart. He fumbled around for the doorknob a second before getting the door opened and finding his brother. He nodded in acknowledgement, and stepped back, letting Ben enter.

"How is he?" Ben asked, taking note of the worried look on his brother's face.

"I don't know. Fever's up and the rash is worse, but Doc said that would happen. His stomach's bothering him, though."

Ben grimaced. "Sick again?"

"No," Beau replied shaking his head. "Just hurtin'."

Ben took a long look at his brother. The tenseness that had been present yesterday had gone and worry was now on his face. Beau had been worried since this had started, but seeing it so plainly now was a sure sign that worry was getting the best of him. "Need anything?" he asked, not knowing what else to do.

"A miracle," Beauregard muttered. He then turned to his brother and forced a grim smile. "Can you bring up some fresh water?"

"I can." Ben got the pitcher from beside Bart's bed and quietly exited.

Beauregard went back over to the bed and gingerly sat down. He carefully lifted Bart's head and placed it in his lap. Once that was done he began to rub Bart's back, hoping to ease a little of the discomfort his son was feeling. Bart's only reaction was an occasional moan and some restless movement. Beauregard didn't think Bart was asleep, but he wasn't sure Bart was really with him either.

A few minutes later Ben came back in, the pitcher now filled with fresh water in one hand and a plate in the other. He put the pitcher down and took a seat before offering the plate to his brother.

Beau took one look at the plate and shook his head. "I don't want it."

"I don't care if you want it. You need it."

Beauregard shot Ben a Maverick look only to find his brother was already wearing a Maverick look of his own. "Take it," Ben said flatly.

"He needs the rag back on his head."

Ben put the plate down, poured water in the basin, rewet the cloth, and passed it over to his brother. After Beauregard had again wiped Bart's face and laid the rag back across his forehead, Ben offered the plate once more. "Take it," he repeated.

By nature, Ben wasn't as stubborn or strong-willed as Beauregard, but he was a Maverick, and he could hold his own when it came to being stubborn. Knowing this, Beauregard took the plate and hurriedly forced down a few bites. Once that was done, he passed the plate back over with a scowl.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" Ben asked with a smirk.

Beau's scowl deepened, Ben's smirk never wavered. Finally, Beauregard sighed. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"How's Bret?" Beau asked as he started running his fingers through Bart's sweat dampened hair.

"Worried, but okay." Ben wasn't going to reveal how guilty Bret was feeling; he doubted Beauregard could handle that right now. "He's still asleep. Speaking of which, have you had any?"

"I laid down for a couple of hours."

After that both men fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts until Bart groaned and tossed some more.

"Is this ever gonna break, Ben?" Beauregard asked, his voice filled with pain. He hated being this helpless, especially when it involved his family.

"Doc said this would happen. He hasn't seemed particularly concerned yet." Beau scoffed at the response. "He's gonna get through this, Beau."

"Wish I was that sure."

Ben gave his brother a grin. "You've always been the worrier. That's why you got me."

"I appreciate you bein' here, Ben."

"It's what family does," Ben answered as he got up. "I'm gonna go see to the boys." Before he left he gave Beauregard's shoulder a squeeze. "He's gonna be alright."

XXXXXXX

Bret was alone when he woke the next morning. He could hear someone in the kitchen, probably Uncle Ben, and knew he needed to get up. Even without school there were still chores that needed to be done, he just didn't feel like getting up and doing them. His throat was feeling scratchy again, there was a small ache behind his eyes, and he was just tired.

Sighing heavily, Bret rolled over and stared at the small fire that was burning. He wished he hadn't cried in front of Ben last night, he was too old for that. But he did feel a little better, if only a little. He wondered if Uncle Ben had meant everything he'd told him; Bret wished it were true, but he still wasn't sure. He wasn't sure it mattered, though even if Ben believed he was blameless, that didn't mean Pappy did. Nothing would really make him feel better until Doc told them Bart was getting better. If Doc ever did tell them that.

Guilt and the weight of his responsibilities finally drove Bret to get up. As much as he hated it, there was nothing he could do to help Bart, or change anything that he had said, but he could keep the ranch running as best he could, even if he had to keep it running alone. Not that it would be anything new, he'd been doing nearly all the work since they'd lost Mama anyway.

He was going back to the bedroom to get dressed when his uncle called him from the kitchen. Bret ducked into the kitchen instead of continuing down the hall and found both Ben and Beau were sitting at the table eating. Ben smiled when he saw him. "Mornin'."

"Mornin'," Bret replied, his voice hoarse. "You should've woke me. The animals need takin' care of."

"Me and Beau already took care of the cow and chickens, so just come over here and eat something."

"You didn't have to do that," Bret countered, his guilt growing just a bit. Letting others do his work wasn't exactly taking care of things.

"It wasn't a problem. Come eat."

"Thanks, Beau," Bret said as he slid into his chair.

"It's alright; Pa did the milkin'."

Bacon and eggs were on the menu again for today and Bret was starting to think that was about all his uncle knew how to make. Not that it mattered much, he wasn't really hungry. He knew Uncle Ben expected him to eat though so he made himself eat a piece of bacon. He immediately found out that it hurt to swallow. Grimacing, he took a drink. That hurt too, but not as bad. He tried eggs next; he got the same result, but they were easier to get down than the bacon. Knowing that, he gave up on the meat and did his best to look like he was eating eggs. It didn't work because after a couple of minutes his uncle gave him a look.

"Eat," Ben said.

Bret gazed down at his plate before shaking his head. "I don't want anymore."

"Beau ate twice that much."

Bret shrugged. "I'm not hungry."

Ben studied him, his eyes narrowing some. "You feelin' alright?"

"Mmm – Hmm." Ben had enough to worry about without him causing more problems so Bret took another bite, doing his best not to wince at the pain swallowing caused. "Have you seen Bart today?" he asked afterwards. Not only did he want to know about his brother, but he wanted Ben to stop asking about him.

Ben nodded. "Yeah; early this mornin'. Fever's up a little more, but otherwise he's not much different than he was last night."

"Is that bad?"

"I don't think so. Doc said the fever would be around a few days. Eat a little more." With that, his uncle got up and went to the stove to refill his coffee.

Figuring he wasn't going to get any more out of Ben right now, he did what his uncle told him. He was on his second bite of eggs when Ben sat back down. He swallowed the bit he had and pushed his plate away. "I'm really not hungry, Uncle Ben."

Ben smiled some. "Alright." He then turned to his son. "Beau, why don't you go out and see to the horses?"

Bret started to get up. "I can do it." Beau had done enough of his work today.

Ben laid a hand on his arm to stop him. "Beau can do it. I wanna talk to you."

At those words, Beau jumped up and practically ran out the door. Bret watched him go really wishing it was him. He had heard the same tone in Uncle Ben's voice that Beau had. This was going to be serious, and Beau wanted no part of it. Bret wasn't sure he did either. He didn't say anything but waited for his uncle to start; it was a long moment before he did.

Ben finally took a deep breath. "Bret, you said last night that you have a hard time getting Bart up. What'd you mean by that?"

"He don't like mornings. I got to call two or three times. And by the time he gets up, he don't have time to help with the chores. He barely has time to get dressed."

"What's your pappy say about that? I mean what does Bart do when Beau calls him?"

Bret scoffed. "Pappy don't get him up. He's always in the bed when we leave."

"Always?"

Bret shrugged. "Well, every once in a while he's up, but only if he ain't gone to bed yet."

"So, you get Bart up, get him ready, take care of the animals, and get the two of you to school?" Bret nodded. "Every day?"

"Most every day."

That wasn't what Ben had wanted to hear. "And Miss Potter. She sent Beau a note?"

Bret nodded. "She doesn't like that we're late all the time. I really try not to be, but Bart . . . . She sent it home Wednesday; I gave it to Pappy and he didn't say anything. The next day Miss Potter asked if he'd sent anything back. She didn't look happy when I told her no."

"You tell him that?"

Bret shook his head no and smiled weakly. "Pappy don't like it when I talk about school. I just figured I'd try harder and then it wouldn't matter."

Ben returned the smile, just as weakly. "I see. Well, if you're done eatin' why don't you go get dressed? Doc should be here soon and maybe we'll find out some good news about Bart."

Bret nodded and finally finished his trip to the bedroom.

Ben watched Bret disappear into the bedroom and sighed. He had hoped last night that Bret had just been upset, that his emotions had been running high and things weren't as bad as they had sounded. After what he'd just heard, he was now pretty sure things were exactly the way he feared they were. He knew Beauregard didn't like the teacher, and he understood. Lord knew she could be slightly . . . uppity, but was it too much to ask that he at least reply to the note, if only for his son's sake? And what was the man thinking leaving everything up to Bret? He was a kid; he shouldn't have to be acting as pappy to his brother. Especially since he was barely older than said brother.

Beauregard had been through Hell; Ben understood that too. After all, he'd been in that boat before. But it had been over a year. Ben knew that sounded kind of cold; in some ways that wasn't nearly long enough, but in another way it was long enough for that terrible pain you thought would never be bearable to become bearable. There was still a hole in his brother's heart, Ben knew from experience that a small hole would always remain, but it was time for Beau to remember he was a father. He had children and he had a responsibility to those children.

Rolling his eyes, Ben got to his feet and started to clean up from breakfast. Bart was going to come through this, Ben knew he was. And when he did, Ben fully intended to give his older brother an earful.


	14. Things Better Left Said

By the time Bret was dressed, Beau had finished with the horses and was back inside getting a poker game set up with his father. "You wanna play, Bret?" he asked.

Poker was the last thing Bret felt like doing. He still didn't feel right; his head was hurting and his stomach was starting to feel funny, but he figured he'd better not refuse. With Uncle Ben having already asked once how he was feeling, declining a poker game was sure to raise more questions. "Sure," he mumbled hoping it wouldn't be too long before Doc arrived.

The game started and every once in a while Ben would slip in a bit of information about bottom dealing and holdouts but, for the most part, they just played. Simply playing was just fine with Bret, the longer the game went on the worse he felt, and it was easier to pretend he was feeling alright when he wasn't being quizzed. Had his uncle actually been in a teaching mood today, Bret was sure he wouldn't remember most of what he was told and being unable to answer questions would have only made Ben suspicious. Thankfully today, Beau seemed to have plenty of questions and comments and Bret was allowed to more or less just sit there.

They had been playing for close to an hour when Bret begin to wonder just how much of a fuss Ben would make if he said he didn't want to play anymore. His throat was scratchier than ever, and he was beginning to feel a little queasy. He didn't want to cause Ben any more problems, and he sure didn't want to make trouble for Pappy, but he really just wanted to go back to bed.

"Bret."

Bret's attention was jerked back to the game when his name was called by a rather impatient sounding Beau. He looked over to his cousin who was giving him a strange look. "What?"

"Do you need somethin'?"

Bret looked at his cards again. Maybe he didn't feel like playing, but so long as he was he needed to pay attention. "Yeah, give me two."

"Bret, are you sure you're feelin' alright?" Ben asked.

Bret swallowed, managing to not grimace at the discomfort in his throat. "I'm fine."

"You ain't actin' fine," Beau muttered.

"Just thinkin' about Bart," Bret lied, or sort of lied. He had been thinking about Bart, earlier anyway.

Ben's brows furrowed and he leaned forward some. "Bret, if there's som . . . . "

Bret never found out what else Uncle Ben was going to say to him. That was all he got out before Pappy interrupted from upstairs. "Ben!" The voice was tense and urgent.

All three Mavericks turned toward the sound and Bret and Ben jumped to their feet, the poker game all but forgotten. Bret looked to his uncle, slightly panicked. "Ben?" He didn't like the way Pappy sounded at all.

The only answer Ben gave was to shake his head as he started walking towards the stairs.

"Ben, get up here," Pappy called again.

Bret rushed over to his uncle. "What's goin' on, Uncle Ben?"

"I don't know." Ben paused at the foot of the stairs and turned his attention back to the boys. "Y'all stay down here, and if Doc comes in send him up."

Bret watched as Ben ran up the stairs. Pappy had already disappeared, and it wasn't long before his uncle also darted into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. The relief he had felt after his talk with Ben last night had deserted him. Pappy had sounded, well; mad wasn't right, but it was the only word Bret could think of. He had only heard that tone when Pappy was upset about something, and Ben had definitely looked anxious when he'd hurried upstairs. Bret glanced back at his cousin and wasn't encouraged to find that Beau looked scared. Beau had been the least worried of any of them the last few days. If he was scared now it meant he hadn't liked what he'd just heard and seen, either. Had something happened no one had been expecting?

With that thought, Bret's stomach unexpectedly rolled. Without a word to Beau, he darted out the door and made it off the porch before his stomach completely rebelled. That was where Beau found him a minute later, in the yard on his hands and knees, vomiting.

"Bret?" Beau hesitantly asked after he'd finished. "You okay?"

Eyes squeezed shut, Bret nodded. "I'm fin . . . ." Before he finished, Bret threw up again.

"Bret," Beau exclaimed in horror when the vomiting started again. "I'm gonna get Pa," he said when Bret's retching again subsided.

"No," Bret stated as forcefully as he could. It wasn't very intimidating, but it stopped Beau. Bret raised a shaky hand to wipe his mouth. "I'm . . . fine," he managed after a moment.

"You sure you don't need pa?"

Bret nodded as he sat back on his heels. "I-I'm fine." That wasn't entirely true, his already scratchy throat now felt like it was on fire, and his stomach still felt a little off, but Uncle Ben didn't need to know any of that. He was determined not to cause any more problems for Pappy or Uncle Ben, especially if there was something else wrong with Bart.

Beau didn't look like he believed him. "You really sure?" he asked dropping down next to him.

Again Bret nodded. "Yeah, I am now." He tried to, and didn't quite, suppress a shudder, but if Beau noticed he didn't comment.

"You're not sick too, are you?"

Bret shook his head. "No." He sighed and finally looked at his cousin. "I'm just . . . . " Bret wasn't sure what he was, but whatever was wrong he'd deal with it. "I'm fine," he said again. "Let's just go back inside." Beau nodded once and helped him to his feet.

Bret still felt a little shaky but made it back inside without any trouble. Fortunately, for him anyway, Ben was still upstairs so he didn't have to explain what he and Beau had been doing outside or why he was trembling slightly. "Beau," he said when they got back to the sitting room. "Don't tell anybody I threw up."

Beau turned to him, looking a little unsure of those directions. "Why?"

"Because I don't wanna worry them, and I am fine now."

Beau hesitated but finally nodded. "Alright." Having given his word, Beau gathered the cards that had been abandoned earlier. Knowing Bret would decline any game he offered now, Beau didn't bother to ask him about playing and started a game of Maverick Solitaire.

Satisfied that his cousin would do what he'd asked him to, Bret lay down on the sofa to wait for Doc. He would feel better when he had word about his brother, and when his stomach stopped churning.

XXXXXXX

Bart groaned once more and Beauregard sighed heavily. Was Doc later than usual? He honestly didn't know what time Doc had been coming. Having sat in this room for so long his sense of time was off. The best he could do now was to tell whether it was day or night, and he could only do that because of the window in the room. Otherwise, he would have no idea of what time of day it was, just as he had no idea what time it actually was now. Maybe Doc wasn't running as late as Beauregard was thinking. Maybe it just seemed that way because Bart was so sick.

Since finding out about Bart's latest ailment, Beauregard had done his best to keep his son as comfortable as possible until Doc Jennings arrived. He also tried not to get too upset by the fact Bart appeared to be worse. Like his brother had pointed out, Doc had warned them the fever would get worse, and he hadn't seemed very concerned at any time since he'd been taking care of Bart. Jennings was the doctor, and Beauregard kept telling himself that the man had to know a bit more about Scarlatina than he did. But that rational, no matter how sound it might be, provided little comfort while he was sitting alone in his son's bedroom, virtually helpless, as his youngest burned up with such a high fever.

He had taken extra efforts to try and get water in Bart this morning. It seemed Bart was sweating more now, which stood to reason given how high the fever had gotten, and Beau knew it was important to keep him hydrated. The problem was over the last hour or so, he'd had a hard time getting Bart to drink. Up until now it had been a simple enough matter, even when Bart had been sleeping he'd been easily aroused, but since Ben had left that had changed. It seemed Bart was no longer sleeping; unfortunately, he didn't seem to be awake either.

Beauregard wasn't sure what name to put on the state Bart was in. His eyes were closed, mostly, but he was so much more restless now. He was constantly tossing and moaning, and rarely did he respond when Beauregard attempted to rouse him. At times, his eyes would open, but even then Beau felt like Bart wasn't seeing him. It was disconcerting to say the least, but Beauregard was trying not to let it get to him too much. Bart had been responding fine just an hour ago, and it wasn't possible that he could have taken a serious downward turn in such a short amount of time. Was it? Another groan came from Bart; another sigh came from Beauregard.

Taking the cloth from Bart's head, Beauregard got to his feet and tossed it back into the basin. Blowing out a breath he braced his arms on the nightstand and spent a long moment just staring down at the basin of water and the rag floating in it. He was starting to feel slightly numb inside and wondered why that was. Exhaustion most likely. Exactly how long had Bart been sick? He thought back, what day was this anyway? Sunday? And what day had Bret woken him up? He was pretty sure that had been Thursday. Maybe. He shook his head, it didn't matter; he just wanted this over. He wanted his boy back on his feet healthy and vibrant, riding his horse and playing poker and finding mischief in that strange way that only Bart Maverick could.

Straightening, Beau took the rag from the water and wrung it out before sitting back down and set about trying to cool Bart's fevered brow once more. A soft whimper came from Bart when the cool cloth touched his fevered skin, and Beau began to mutter words of comfort as he gently wiped his boy's face and neck. Surely Doc would be able to do something to ease Bart's suffering when he arrived, even if it was only a little. Giving Bart's forehead a final swipe, Beau placed the rag on the nightstand and leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the bed and brushing Bart's hair back. Wiping Bart's face seemed to calm him and Beau found himself thinking that as long as Doc didn't get tied up in town with a broken bone or an impending birth, Bart should be fine until he got here. Once again he wondered if Doc was running behind and made a mental note to ask Ben to bring him his watch next time he came up.

Keeping a hand on Bart's head, Beauregard put his own head down on the bed and closed his eyes. He was still tired, but he wasn't lying back down. At least not until Bart started improving, and he meant that, he didn't care what Doc or Ben said. He was just about to drift off when another moan came from Bart. Sitting up, Beau attempted to rouse Bart. "Bart. Wake up, son." Bart didn't respond to his voice but instead moaned again. "Bart," Beau said with a little more authority in his voice. "Look at me." Again, Bart seemed oblivious to his father. "Bartley."

Bart tossed some, groaned a little, but finally opened his eyes. They were glazed with fever and yet again Beauregard wondered how much Bart was aware of. "Bart?"

"Mama," Bart moaned through dry lips. "Make it – stop. Mama, it 'urts."

A sucker punch to the gut wouldn't have driven the breath from Beau more effectively. It took him a minute to regain his bearings. "Ma . . . " Beau had to swallow back the lump that had unexpectedly sprung up in his throat. "Mama's not here, Bart."

Those fevered eyes blinked at his once, twice, then. "Don't leave, Mama. Mama." Bart's voice rose a little more with each word.

Afraid things were only going to get worse Beau jumped up and quickly strode to the door. Opening it just enough to step onto the landing Beauregard called to his brother. "Ben." He did his best to keep his voice level, but he knew there was tension he couldn't hide. When Bart called for Belle again, Beauregard's heart jumped. "Ben, get up here." He didn't wait around for his brother but hurried back to Bart.

Bart was tossing again, his eyes open and unfocused. "Shhh, Bart," he said quietly, his hands going to Bart's shoulders to keep him still. "It's okay son."

"Mama," Bart cried. "Mama, no. Mama!"

"What's wrong?" Ben asked rushing into the room.

"He's callin' Belle." As if to prove his point, Bart again called for his mother. Beau shook his head. "Mama's gone, Bart. Listen to me, son. Listen."

Ben winced at the pitiful exchange, but went over and stilled Bart's legs while Beauregard kept trying to calm Bart. Ben doubted Beauregard's words would do any good, but he made no move to stop him. Beau needed to feel like he was doing something.

Bart continued to cry for Belle until, without warning, his eyes slid shut, and the frenzied movement ceased. The fit stopped so abruptly Beau's heart skipped a beat, but he relaxed when Bart moaned and shifted some. The fit had only lasted a couple of minutes but to Beauregard it had seemed much longer. Taking a shuddering breath, Beau got up from the bed and ran his hands through his hair. He turned to his brother. "What. . . .?

"Delirium," Ben suggested. It wasn't uncommon in high fevers and if Beau was thinking more clearly he would have remembered that.

Beauregard nodded vaguely. "Yeah."

"He's alright."

"Until it happens again." Beau snapped. "How much longer can this go on? He's a child, Bentley. He can't keep fightin' this."

Ben sighed but made no comment. Beauregard needed to let off some steam and Ben was going to let him. It was better he lite into his brother than someone else.

"Where's Doc when you actually need him?" Beauregard continued angrily.

"He's right here," a voice behind the Mavericks called.

Beau and Ben both whirled to find Doc Jennings standing in the doorway. Beauregard huffed. "You could have been here ten minutes ago."

"I got here as soon as I could," Doc answered not at all fazed by Maverick's snappy tone.

"He was delirious," Ben offered as Doc came over.

Doc grimaced. "That's not unusual, Beau. I apologize for not warning you, but it's pretty common. I didn't think about it." Ben rolled his eyes while Beauregard sent the doctor a glare that would have frozen a lesser man. Again Doc didn't seem bothered and went over to the bed to begin his examination. He first took Bart's pulse, than pulled out his thermometer. "Ben, on my way up I passed a couple of boys who looked pretty shaken. Why don't you go see if you can reassure them?"

Ben nodded assent, but first there was someone else he needed to reassure. Going over to Beauregard, he gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze. "You alright?"

Beau sent another hard look in Doc's general direction. "No." He wasn't sure a warning would have actually prepared him for what had just happened, but it would have been nice to know just the same. The only thing worse than having to watch his son suffer was having to watch his son suffer while he called for a mother who couldn't come. Taking a deep breath, he faced his brother again. "But I will be. You might as well go see about the boys; there's not much you can do here. And uhhh, tell Bret . . . tell him everything's okay."

Ben smiled some. That was the first positive thing he'd heard from his brother in days. Maybe Beauregard was starting to believe things would work out. "Alright."


	15. Admission

"How is he?" Beauregard asked going back over to the bed after his brother had left.

Jennings gave the Maverick man his full attention. "The fever's up, it's about one-oh-five now. That's high, but it's not unusual or unexpected. His pulse is good and strong, better than it was yesterday."

"That's . . . good?" Beauregard asked uncertainly.

"The pulse? Yes."

"And the fever?"

"Scarlet fever, as the name implies, is a fever. It's not unusual for it the climb that high, or even higher at times."

Beauregard softly sat on the edge of the bed. "What do we do about it?"

Doc shook his head. "Nothing. The fever rising is no reason to try and treat anything. It shouldn't stay this high long, probably no longer than today then hopefully it'll start burning itself out."

"What about the episode earlier?"

A guilty look came to Doc's face. "I am sorry about that, Beau. I should have said something, it's so common I didn't think about it being unexpected. I assumed you would remember from . . . ." Doc stopped short.

Beauregard nodded. Doc assumed he would have remembered from when Belle had been sick. Those days, especially the last days, had mostly passed in a blur. Thinking back he did remember Belle being disoriented and mumbling things that hadn't made a lot of sense, but she'd never gotten like Bart had been. "I do. It's . . . " he stopped not wanting to relive all that. He wished Doc had given him some warning about Bart, and he was still a bit put out he hadn't, but it wouldn't do any good to crawl all over the man now. "Will it happen again?" he asked, ready to get the talk away from Belle.

"It's still high enough for it to, but there's no way to tell if it will. I know it's hard to see but, there isn't any sickness where delirium is more common and less dangerous than scarlet fever."

With that, Doc continued his examination. He looked the rash over then focused on Bart's throat, checking the swelling on his neck and paying special to the ulcers that were still in his mouth. He peppered Beauregard with questions the entire time and Beauregard watched Doc carefully; looking for even the slightest sign he thought something was amiss. He was surprised that Doc's expression didn't change much, at least not until the end. After he was done with the exam, Doc leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and seemed to seriously consider something.

"What?" Beau asked unable to keep the apprehension out of his voice.

Doc straightened. "Nothing. He's doing well, Beau. It hasn't been as easy for him as I was hoping it would be, but it hasn't been anywhere near as bad as it could be."

"Then what's wrong?"

"There's really nothing wrong," Doc said with a shake of his head. "It's just been a long week. Actually, I'm very pleased with how things look today. I really like the way his throat looks; still red and inflamed, but the poultice seems to have worked. A lot of the swelling in his throat has gone down and the ulcers don't appear to be getting worse. There's also no sign of swelling in his joints, which is good. Has he complained about his back hurting anymore?"

"No, just his stomach. What about that?"

Doc shrugged. "I can't tell you anything definite until Bart can tell me exactly what he's feeling, but I doubt it's serious. Cramps most likely; a little more magnesia should take care of it. The best I can tell you is he's still holding his own."

"So we wait?" Beauregard asked, his sarcastic tone slipping back in.

"I know it's frustrating, but really there's nothing else that can be done. I've treated everything I can at this point." Another moan came from Bart pulling Jennings attention to the younger Maverick again.

"Bart?" Beau said scooting closer. "Can you hear me?" Bart didn't answer but became progressively more restless. "Bart?"

Bart moaned again before opening his eyes sluggishly. "Stop it, Bret," he mumbled. "I don't want to."

Beauregard groaned softly and ran a hand through his hair. It looked like the delirium was going to continue.

"It's alright, Beau," Doc said. He reached for the glass on the nightstand and slid an arm under Bart. "Drink some, Bart," Doc said lifting him and putting the glass to his lips. It took some coaxing, but reflex finally took over and Bart took a couple of sips. Laying Bart back down, and returning the glass to the nightstand, Doc turned to Beauregard. "I'd expect the delirium to last until the fever drops some."

"That wasn't like last time," Beauregard said. "Earlier it was almost like a . . . fit or somethin'."

"Probably wore himself out. He doesn't have a lot of strength to waste right now, so you probably won't have him that active again, but moments like that will probably keep on for a little while yet. He'll be fine; just don't let him hurt himself if he does start moving around again. I don't think that's going to be a problem, though."

Doc got to his feet and put his jacket back on. "Keep trying to get water in him; he needs it. You can try some broth again if he wakes up enough, but I wouldn't count on that happening today. Don't worry about it too much just keep on with the water. It'll be plenty for now. If I don't hear any different, I'll see you in the morning."

Beauregard shook Doc's hand. "Thanks, Doc."

Jennings nodded and showed himself out while Beauregard resumed his bedside vigil. Bart tossed some more and Beauregard reached out to stroke his cheek. It was going to be a long day.

XXXXXXX

Bret had thought for sure his stomach would feel better by the time Doc arrived, but it didn't. Actually, by the time Doc Jennings got there it was feeling so unsettled he was almost afraid he would throw up while answering the man's questions. He didn't, and thankfully Beau jumped in and told Doc most of what had happened with Pappy calling down and Uncle Ben running upstairs. Bret wasn't sure if his cousin was just in a mood to talk or if he suspected Bret still wasn't feeling well, but Bret was grateful for the intervention either way.

Doc's brows furrowed as he listened to Beau, but he didn't look alarmed. "Is your pa still up there?" he asked once the boy had finished his explanation.

"Yes, sir," Beau answered with a nod.

Doc then looked to Bret. "I know you've been really worried about Bart, but try not to think too much about this. If it's what I think it is, it's nothing serious."

Bret only nodded in reply. Doc smiled and patted his shoulder, then went upstairs.

Bret listened as Doc made his way upstairs, and it was only after he'd heard the bedroom door open and close again that he let himself grimace. His stomach was hurting a little bit now. He had to get better soon, he had to. He wasn't sick. He. Was. Not. Sick.

"Bret," Beau asked sitting beside him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Bret nodded an affirmation even though his body was telling him something quite the contrary. "I'm fine."

Beau didn't look as though he believed him, but no more was said about it.

They sat in silence waiting for Ben, and Bret kept telling himself he was fine; that there was nothing wrong with him, and Pappy and Ben wouldn't have any more to worry about because of him. He almost believed it by the time Ben rejoined them.

"He's fine," Ben assured them before either boy could say a word. He even managed a smile when he sat down so he could talk to both his son and his nephew.

"What did Pappy want?" Bret asked.

"Your pappy just wanted somebody else upstairs for a minute. Bart's fever's up pretty high right now," Ben explained. "It's makin' him say some things that aren't makin' a lot of sense."

"Like Mama," Bret whispered, paling some. He and Bart had spent a lot of time with Uncle Ben when Mama had been sick, but Bret remembered once when they had been at home Mama had talked in her sleep. Pappy had told him Mama was just dreaming, but he remembered Pappy looking worried. If Bart was doing that too, did that mean he was getting worse? His stomach rolled again, and Bret just knew he was going to be sick.

"No," Ben stated emphatically. "No, it's not like that. Bart – he's still doing okay." Just like with Doc, Bret really didn't know what to say so he just nodded again. "Why don't we get started back on that poker game while we wait for Doc?" Ben asked.

Beau nodded eagerly. Bret agreed but only because he felt he didn't have much of a choice.

It wasn't long before Doc came back down and gave them a report. He didn't talk much about what had happened with Bart before he'd arrived, but he did seem a little more positive than he had the past few days. Bret had been thinking that once they got some good news everything would look better, but it didn't really. Of course, Doc hadn't told them Bart was going to be okay, but it hadn't been bad news. Either way, Bret still felt terrible. His stomach wasn't as queasy, but his headache was getting worse and he wondered if he was going to be able to keep Uncle Ben from noticing. That turned out to be a problem he didn't have to worry about for very long. Shortly after Doc left, Uncle Ben told them he was going to check on Bart and went upstairs, giving Bret another reprieve.

As soon as Ben was gone Bret dropped all pretenses. Closing his eyes, he groaned softly as he dropped his head onto the back of the couch.

"You are sick, ain't you?" Beau asked after a moment.

Bret opened his eyes and found his cousin staring at him. "No."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I just got a headache is all. I'm fine."

"Why don't you tell Pa?"

Bret gave what he hoped was a careless shrug. "There's nothing to tell." He saw something flash in his cousin's eyes and sat up straighter. "You promised not to say anything."

Beau looked like he was about to protest, but stopped when he realized Bret was right. He hadn't actually said 'promise', but that's what he had meant. "I don't want you sick too," he said instead.

"I'm not sick, Beau. I'm fine. Honest. "

Bret spent the rest of the day trying to avoid his uncle. It was no easy task in the small house, especially since it was almost too cool to be outside and Bret didn't feel like doing anything but laying around. He only managed as well as he did because Ben spent so much more time running up and down the stairs than he had the last few days. Normally Bret might have wondered why that was, but he was soon past caring. As the day went on, his headache continued to get worse, his throat became more irritated, and by afternoon a cough had started and the nausea had returned with a vengeance.

Bret had hidden being sick by claiming he needed to go out back, and he'd gotten away with it because Ben was so distracted today. It had seemed like a good idea at first, but Bret wasn't getting better, and he was soon forced to admit that the plan wouldn't work for long. Not only did it get harder to pretend like he was fine, but he started thinking that soon Uncle Ben might notice the fact he was spending an awful lot of time in the outhouse today. After his fourth trip of the afternoon, Bret knew he had to tell Ben something.

His latest bout of retching had left Bret feeling particularly drained and shaky, and he knew Ben would notice something was up when he saw him. After dragging himself back inside through the backdoor, Bret finally admitted to himself what he'd been refusing to say all day; he was sick. He had fought it and hid it as long as he could, but there was no longer any way to deny it. His head was throbbing, his throat was raw, and he wasn't sure his stomach would never feel settled again. He was sick and he wasn't going to get better, and he really wanted his father. He could tell Uncle Ben he didn't feel well and Uncle Ben would take care of him, but he wanted Pappy. The only problem was he couldn't see Pappy.

Still feeling shaky from the vomiting he'd just done, Bret started back towards the parlor to tell his uncle about what had been bothering him all day. When he got to the stairs, he paused. Again Bret looked up the thirteen steps that had kept him from both his brother, and his father, for days and realized that there was no longer anything stopping him from going up them. Uncle Ben and Beau were in the kitchen now, he could hear them, and Uncle Ben couldn't see the stairs from the kitchen. He could now walk up without any interference and see Bart and Pappy. Giving the kitchen one more look, Bret quietly started up the stairs. He moved as softly as he could so Ben wouldn't hear him, and he was sure to avoid the step right next to the top one that always popped when it was stepped on. Making it to the top, Bret pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside the room that had been forbidden to him for the better part of a week.

Bret quietly walked across the room to Bart's bed. Pappy was in a chair next to the bed and when Bret saw he was asleep turned his attention to Bart. Ben had told him about scarlet fever and the rash that came with it, but Bret wasn't expecting the bright red that was now coloring his brother's face. It was alarming to see and Bret felt a whole new wave of guilt wash over him when he saw what he'd done to his little brother. Bart also had sweat beading his forehead, and even though he looked like he was sleeping he appeared very uncomfortable. Bret panicked for a moment. Did he have scarlet fever? Were that red rash and high fever going to attack him too? Maybe that's what he deserved after doing this to Bart.

"I'm sorry, Brother Bart. I am. I didn't know this would happen," he whispered to his brother.

Bret suddenly felt sick again, but for a very different reason. He backed away from Bart until he was next to Pappy again. Closing his eyes, Bret dropped his head on Pappy's shoulder, feeling more sick, lonely, and afraid than ever.


	16. A Secret Reveled

The day had been just as long as Beauregard had predicted it being. Bart's fever hovered around the same temperature most of the day, and just like Doc had said, the delirium continued. Ben had been in and out all day doing what he could to help, but there really wasn't much anyone could do. On a positive note, sometime in the afternoon, the fever seemed to drop some. It was still high, but it didn't seem to be burning with the same intensity it had this morning; Bart appeared to be resting again at any rate. Beauregard had no way of knowing for sure, but he was hoping this was a good indication that they had made it through the worst and Bart was about to take a turn for the better.

Seeing Bart looking more peaceful than he had in several hours, Beau felt alright about trying to get a bit more rest himself. He wouldn't go back to bed, but he was willing to try to catch an hour or two of sleep in the chair. Once more he shifted around until he found a reasonably comfortable position and let his eyes drift shut.

Beauregard wasn't sure if it was minutes or perhaps hours since he had fallen asleep, but his next moment of awareness occurred when he felt a weight on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and found Bret standing beside him, head lying on his shoulder. "What are you doin' here?" he mumbled.

Bret lifted his head and merely shrugged. Father and son watched each other a moment before Bret looked over at Bart. "Is he gettin' better?"

Pappy managed a slight smile. "Yeah, I think he might be. Go on back out with Ben; you don't need to be in here."

"I wanna stay with you."

Sighing Beau sat up from his slouched position. "You can't, son. I don't want you gettin' sick too."

"I can stay over here. I-I won't go near him."

Beauregard was exhausted, it had been days since he'd had a full night – or day – of sleep, and he still wasn't fully awake from his brief nap. He knew Bret shouldn't be around, but right now he didn't quite remember the urgency for keeping Bret away and was almost ready to give in.

"Please," Bret added; then he coughed, a deep, hacking cough.

Beauregard was jerked back to full awareness by the sound, and every thought of giving in to Bret was driven from his mind. "What's wrong, son?" he asked pulling Bret around so he was directly in front of him. Bret was silent, but he looked pale, his eyes tired. Beauregard raised a hand and placed it against Bret's cheek; his stomach dropped when he felt heat. "Bret, what's wrong?" he asked again, an edge coming to his voice.

A look that could only be described as guilt washed over Bret's countenance. "Nothi…"

"Don't lie to me, boy." Beau cut in sternly.

Bret flinched at the harsh tone, his eyes dropping to the floor. "My throat hurts," Bret admitted, softly.

That awful feeling of not being able to draw a breath – a feeling Beau was becoming far too well acquainted with – struck again. He was too stunned to speak. It was only a silent, desperate prayer that came to mind. ' _Oh, God, please. Not Bret too.'_

He remembered Bret's words, "I wanna stay with you." That should have told him something wasn't right. Days before when Bret had been begging him to let him stay in the room he'd heard a list of excuses: he needed to be with Bart, he was supposed to take care of Bart, Bart would want him around, and what if Bart thought he didn't care anymore. Bret had given him plenty of reasons for wanting to stay, but they had all been about Bart. Never had Bret said he wanted to stay because of Beauregard. It sent off a big warning that something was very wrong if the only reason Bret was giving for his presence was that he wanted to be with Pappy; a sore throat wouldn't be reason enough for that. Beau was finally able to force out one word. "And?"

Bret began shifting nervously from one foot to the other, his eyes darting around the room landing on anything but his father. "Got a headache." The admission was made with great reluctance.

"How long?"

"This morning."

"Did you tell, Ben?" Bret shook his head, another cough racking his shoulders. "Why?" Beau demanded.

Bret winced and took a step back, out of his father's grip. "I-I didn't . . . I'm not . . . I me . . . ." Bret stopped and chewed on his lip before meeting Beauregard's eyes again. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Beauregard was confused. What exactly was Bret apologizing for? He didn't get long to think about it before Bret started to walk away. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, taking hold of Bret's arm.

"Downstairs."

"No, you're not," Beau responded with a shake of his head. "Come on." Standing, he steered Bret over to his bed.

Bret needed no persuasion to go to bed, another sign of how sick he was. He lay down immediately and curled up on his side. A soft groan escaping as he closed his eyes.

Beauregard stood over his son and studied him. Why hadn't Ben said something? Bret definitely looked sick. Ben must be as blind as his brother not to notice something was wrong; blind or stupid. "Wait here," he said, as he leaned over and brushed Bret's hair back. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Stepping out of the room, Beauregard softly closed the door before leaning against it with a sigh. His hopes that Bart had been about to start improving were gone. Even if Bart did begin to recover, he was looking at facing the past few days all over again. The fever, the discomfort, the ipecac treatment; no, he couldn't do that again. Of course, just because Bret was sick didn't mean he had scarlet fever; there were lots of sicknesses that could cause a sore throat. But more than likely scarlet fever was exactly what it was. It was the only thing that made sense.

Closing his eyes, he took a shuddering breath. Why? Why was this happening? First Belle, then Bart, and now Bret. How much of this could one man take? He wanted to lash out; scream, cuss, put his fist through the wall; demand answers from a God he didn't think paid a bit of attention to him. He didn't have the energy, though, and none of that would help the boys. Instead, he took a deep breath and focused on the problem at hand.

"Ben," he called as he started down the stairs.

Ben came out of the kitchen, an odd look coming to his face when he saw his brother. "Beau," he answered. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Bret?"

"He's in the front room."

"He's upstairs. He's sick."

"What do you mean sick?"

"He's sick, Ben. What do you think I mean?"

There was a moment of awkward silence between the brothers. Ben was the one to break it. "You think it's the fever?"

"Yeah, I do." A rasp had come to Beauregard's voice. "Would you go into town, see if Doc can come back out?"

"Sure. You need anything up there?"

Beau shook his head. "Just get Doc."

He went back upstairs feeling completely worn. When he entered the room, he noticed Bret's bed was empty. "Bret?" he cried feeling a surge of panic until he saw Bret on the floor by Bart's bed.

He was about to lite into Bret about not staying put until he noticed that Bret wasn't by the bed, he was by the chamber pot, and sitting in the same slumped over position Beau had seen Bart in too many times lately. Beauregard eased down on the floor beside his son and proceeded to rub Bret's back. "How long's this been goin' on, Bret?"

Bret lifted his head. "Since this mornin'."

"Before or after Doc was here?" Judging by how little there was in the pot, this must have been happening quite often.

"Before."

"Why didn't you say something?" Bret shrugged, as he wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. "Bret?"

"I-I didn't . . . wanna be a problem. You and Uncle Ben was already worried about Bart. I didn't want you to hafta worry about me too."

Beau sighed. "You're not a problem, son. I want to know when something's wrong." Bret looked up, and briefly, there was something in his eyes Beauregard couldn't identify. Before he could puzzle out what is was, it vanished, gone as quickly as it appeared and Beau wasn't sure he'd seen anything. "Come on," he said pulling Bret up. "Let's get you to bed."

Bret was shaky, and Beau all but carried him to the bed. Once they made it across the room, Beau helped Bret change for bed and tucked him in. He then went to check on Bart, and found the boy wasn't much different than he had been when he'd left; naturally the fever was still there but he was still asleep and quiet. Satisfied that Bart was relativity comfortable, Beau rewetted the rag on Bart's forehead and took the chamber pot over to Bret's bed, lest his oldest have need of it again. The last thing he did was take both the basin and the chair over to Bret's side of the room.

Bret watched everything in silence but protested when Beauregard put the chair by his bed and sat down. "I'm fine. Stay with Bart."

"First off, boy, you're not fine," Beau answered as he wet a new rag. "And Bart's alright for now; he's asleep." He started to wipe Bret's face off. The only sound Bret made was a soft moan as the cool cloth soothed his fevered skin.

Beau shook his head as Bret's eyes slid shut. The boy was worn out, and it was little wonder if Bret had been hiding that he'd been this ill all day. They would have to have a talk about that later, but Beau wasn't concerned about that right now. The most important thing now was to get them both well. "Try to get some sleep, son," he told Bret as he laid the cloth across Bret's head. Bret was asleep in a matter of seconds.

Propping his forearms on his knees, Beauregard watched his son. How was he going to do it? Taking care of Bart had about done him in the last couple of days, how was he going to nurse both of them through this? Groaning he rubbed his eyes. He knew Ben was aware of the urgency, and he trusted that Ben would get the Doc as fast as he could, but it didn't matter how fast Ben made it back. It wouldn't be fast enough.

XXXXXXX

Ben set off for town as soon as his brother went back upstairs, anxious to get Doc and get back. He'd been hoping they would get out if this without Beau or Bret getting anything. Now that Bret had fallen ill, he was especially concerned about Beau.

Beau had been quiet today, unusually so, and Ben kept stealing glances at him as he made the drive into town. They were about halfway there when Beau caught his father looking at him.

"What?" Beau asked.

"You're kind of quiet. You feelin' okay?"

Beau nodded and hesitated before asking, "Does Bret have scarlet fever?"

"More than likely. That's why we're going to get Doc, so we can find out."

Beau picked at the wagon's seat and finally asked the question Ben had known was coming. "Am I gonna get scarlet fever too?"

A definite tremble was in Beau's voice and Ben turned to find a pair of fearful eyes gazing at him. Ben reached over and rubbed the back of his son's neck with his thumb. "I hope not." He managed a smile, albeit a weak one. "That's also why we're gonna get Doc to take a look at you before he leaves. I'd like to keep you healthy." Beau tried to return the smile; he didn't succeed.

Ben's heart twisted; for the first time since this ordeal had started, Beau was afraid. Ben put his arm around his son and pulled him closer. "Don't worry, son. It's gonna be alright."

The rest of the short ride was made in silence and Ben was relieved when they finally made it to Doc's office. "Doc?" he called as he and Beau entered.

Doc stepped out of the back room, looking slightly disheveled. His brows furrowed when he saw the Mavericks. "Everything alright?"

Ben scoffed. "Well, Bart's doing okay. Bret's . . . he's got something."

Doc nodded. "I see. Come on back." They entered the exam room where it appeared Doc had been resupplying his bag. "What are his symptoms?"

"Uhhh, well, I'm not sure," Ben replied, wincing at how dumb the answer sounded. "He slipped upstairs this afternoon, and Beauregard came down and sent me here." He hoped that cleared things up a little.

Doc stopped what he was doing and looked at Ben. "He hasn't shown any signs at all today?"

"I've been with Beauregard most of the day," Ben said getting a little defensive.

"He was throwing up," Beau chimed in.

Ben and Doc both turned to the boy, who looked like he'd just said something he wasn't supposed to. "Throwing up?" Ben asked. "When did that happen?"

Beau's eyes dropped. "The first time was this morning when Uncle Beau hollered for you."

"The – the first time? Just how many times did it happen?"

"Ummm, a lot."

"And why didn't anybody tell me that?"

"I wasn't supposed to. I promised Bret."

Ben threw his hands up, exasperated. "Apparently he's throwing up," he said to Doc.

"He had a headache too," Beau added, earning him a look from his father. "I told him I wouldn't tell."

"We'll talk about it later," Ben told him, miffed at being kept in the dark all day. Doc again became his focus, "Beauregard thinks it's scarlet fever."

"Unfortunately, he's probably right. If that's what it is," he looked to Beau. "Seeing him this morning wouldn't have made much of a difference in how things are going to turn out." That got a smile out of the boy, which had been Doc's intent. The Maverick men could get a little overbearing at times; he didn't want Beau feeling guilty for doing what he thought had been the right thing. There would be time to sort that out later.

"Ben," Doc said. "The two of you can start on back. I'll follow as soon as get my bag back together."

Ben nodded. "Come on, boy," he said to Beau, throwing an arm back around his shoulders as they walked out. It had been a long week already, and it didn't look like it was going to improve anytime soon.


	17. A Moments Rest

By the time Ben had made the drive back to his brother's house, a lot of the anxiety Beau had displayed earlier appeared to have dissipated; he was talking again anyway. Ben suspected the conversation was more a ploy to avoid talking about the part he'd had in hiding Bret's sickness than feeling more at ease, but he was willing to let it go for now. There would be time enough to discuss the circumstances in which one shouldn't keep things hidden later.

Doc arrived about the time Ben was turning the horse back out, and the two men went inside together. Doc didn't waste any time on pleasantries and immediately went back upstairs. Beau was back in the front room with the cards, and Ben considered talking to him then but again decided to let the incident wait. The truth was, he could use a little time to himself and went to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee. Over the next hour, he sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee and trying to sort out the jumble of thoughts and concerns that were running around in his head. He was still there when Doc rejoined him.

"Can I have a word, Ben?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah; have a seat. You want some coffee?"

"Please," Doc answered as he sat down at the small table.

Ben filled a new cup and passed it over. "He's got it, don't he?"

"I'm afraid so; it's all there but the rash. I'm a little surprised it hasn't shown up yet. I don't know how long he's been hiding this, but he's a sick boy."

"So it's startin' all over again?"

There was genuine sympathy in Jennings' eyes when he answered. "I wish I could tell you something different."

Ben chuckled humorlessly. "I wish you could too. Is there anything else wrong? Something with Bart?"

"No," Doc replied shaking his head. "No, nothing like that. Bart's actually doing very well all things considered. I expect him to take a turn for the better soon."

"Really?"

"Mmm-hmm. I haven't said anything to Beauregard yet, just in case something unforeseen should occur, and it's far from over, but I think he's going to come through this just fine."

Ben blew out a relieved breath as he leaned back in his chair. "Good." He then noticed Doc looked a little morose. "It is good, right?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

"But?" Ben had a feeling something was coming he wasn't going to like.

"I had just gotten back from the Granger's when you came in earlier. Adam's got scarlet fever."

Ben closed his eyes and groaned. "I guess this means no one's gettin' off easy," he said after a moment.

"One more case isn't too bad, I hope this will be it, but that isn't what I wanted to talk with you about. I actually wanted to talk about Beau. I'd like to take a look at him before I leave if you don't mind."

"I wish you would."

"Have you noticed anything? Anything at all that seems out of the ordinary?"

Ben shook his head. "No. But I don't know what that's worth; I didn't notice anything with Bret either."

"That wasn't your fault, Ben. I'm sure your hands have been pretty full the last couple of days, and remember, you had two young conspirators who were trying to keep it from you. Seeing it earlier wouldn't have changed anything anyway."

"I'm not sure I believe you, but thanks for the vote of confidence."

Doc nodded. "I'd like to think that if Beau was going to pick it up, he'd be showing some sign of it by now, but I want to keep an eye on him for the next couple of days."

"I understand; I'll get him. Help yourself to more coffee."

Beau wasn't happy about Doc wanting to see him, just as Ben had known he would be, and it was a very apprehensive boy Ben all but pushed into the kitchen and guided into the chair across from Doc.

"How are you feeling?" Doc asked once his young patient was seated.

"Fine," Beau mumbled.

Ben knelt down by his son. "Is that the truth, Beauregard?" he asked quietly.

Beau looked a little abashed at being called Beauregard, but there was no hesitation in his answer. "Yes, sir."

"It's important that you're honest with me," Doc added.

"It is the truth," Beau told the doctor. He looked back to his father. "I'm not lyin'. I swear."

Ben looked in his son's eyes, searching for even the smallest hint of deception; he couldn't find any. Nodding, he moved back out of the way, allowing Doc to continue.

It didn't take long for the exam, and Doc smiled when he finished looking at Beau's throat. "You look just fine," he said, patting Beau's knee. "Run along and get back to whatever you were doing."

Beau was only too happy to do that and ran out of the kitchen.

Ben waited until his son was gone before addressing Doc. "He's really okay?"

"Nothing. No swelling, no ulcers, no redness, no fever; I didn't see a thing that didn't look normal."

"Any guarantees he's gonna stay that way?"

"Sorry; I don't give guarantees. Just keep an eye on him for the next few days."

Ben nodded. "Anything else?"

Doc motioned upstairs. "Has Beauregard been out of that room since Bart got sick?"

"Outside of coming about halfway down the stairs to yell at me this morning, no."

"See if you can get him to take a few minutes to himself later, get him to eat something, maybe wash up. They do need him, Ben, but he can't do them any good if he's half-dead himself."

Ben looked up the stairs then turned back to Doc with a grimace. "I don't give guarantees either, but I'll see what I can do."

Doc chuckled. "If you don't have any success, I'll get on him tomorrow." Doc gathered his things and nodded at Maverick. "See you in the morning, Ben."

"Let's hope it's that long."

XXXXXXX

Beauregard left the bedroom and wearily sank to the floor. He had been pacing the confines of that room for God only knew how long, giving whatever aid and comfort he could when it was needed. And all of a sudden he'd begun to feel stifled and overwhelmed. The temperature in the room had seemed to jump up by several degrees and he'd found it hard to breathe. He needed some air, just a minute outside that room, and with both boys now sleeping, he had decided to take advantage of the moment. He didn't need long, just a chance to get his bearings and clear his head. Taking a deep breath, he tried to sort through the jumble of thoughts running around in his head.

Bret's diagnosis was exactly what he'd feared; scarlet fever. The good news was, Bret had dodged the dreaded ipecac treatment; there simply wasn't any point to it. By the time Doc had gotten to him, Bret's body had already done exactly what the emetic would have done. Beauregard was grateful for Bret's sake, but he was also selfishly glad he hadn't had to sit through that again. A dose of magnesia had been all Doc had given Bret, that was an attempt to abate his remaining nausea. Beyond that, things were playing out almost exactly as they had with Bart. The fever, the swollen throat, the ulcers; the rash would come later.

Bart's condition was unchanged. His fever had dropped since the delirium this morning, but only marginally. His incoherent mumbling hadn't stopped, but it had slowed, and he was resting better. It was a small consolation, knowing it was about to start all over again with Bret. Beau wasn't sure he could do it all again. And Bart wasn't out of the woods yet. His temperature dropping by mere fractions of degrees wasn't a sign that he was on the road to recovery, it meant only that his fever wasn't quite as high as it had been this morning.

Dropping his head against the wall, Beau sighed. He was as tired as he could ever remember being, and he wondered how he was going to get through this nightmare.

"Beau?"

Startled Beauregard opened eyes he hadn't realized he had closed and found his brother standing halfway up the stairs watching him quizzically. "Somethin' wrong?" Ben asked.

"No, I . . . needed some air. They're both asleep."

"You want anything?"

Beau scoffed. "A drink?" He hadn't had a drink in ten years, but he wanted one now.

"You don't want a drink."

"Shut up, Ben," Beau snapped, closing his eyes. "I may not need it, but don't stand there and tell me what I want."

Beau heard his brother sigh before, "Alright, do you _need_ anything?"

Beau heard the irritation in his brother's voice and almost felt guilty. Ben had done a lot the last few days, and he was trying to help. They both knew if Beauregard had a drink now he wouldn't stop until he was good and drunk, and that would do no one any good. He opened his eyes again and found Ben still staring at him, his frustration obvious. "Ben, I'm . . . it's been a . . . you're right, I don't need it."

Ben offered a half smile knowing that was about as close to an apology as Beau could give. "Do you need anything?"

Beau warily shook his head. "No. I just wanted a minute to . . . I need to get back in there."

Ben climbed the rest of the stairs and offered his brother a hand up, which Beau gratefully accepted. He staggered some when he was back on his feet, and Ben grabbed his arm. "You alright?"

"I'm fine."

"You know, Beauregard, you haven't been out of that room in three days."

"Is that all it's been?"

"Have you thought about cleaning yourself up some?"

Something about Ben's question penetrated the fog over Beau's mind. Had he thought about it? No. Up until just a few minutes ago, he hadn't thought about much of anything. He glanced down at his clothes, he'd barely taken the time to get dressed before he'd rushed up here three days ago, what he had gotten on was now badly rumpled. Beauregard Maverick was rumpled, that wasn't something one often heard. When he looked back to his brother, he was able to give Ben a smile; a small one, but it was genuine. "What are sayin', Bentley?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, brother dear, but does the word tramp mean anything to you?"

Beauregard ran a hand across a cheek that hadn't met a razor in four days. "I don't guess I am lookin' my best. It's gonna have to wait, though." He started to push past his brother, but Ben stopped him.

"Why?" Ben asked.

"I gotta get back in there."

"You can take ten minutes."

An edge came to Beau's voice. "I told Bart I wouldn't leave him; I'm not. Not until he's better."

"I wouldn't call goin' downstairs leavin' him. Beau's sleepin' in your room, but I've got you clean clothes out and there's water in the kitchen."

It was tempting, very tempting. Beau hadn't thought anything about it the last few days, but since Ben had mentioned it, a clean shirt and a shave would be nice. But what would Bart think if he woke up and Pappy wasn't there? "What about the boys?"

"You said they were asleep."

"What if they wake up?"

Ben rolled his eyes. "You know I have one too. I think I can handle anything that comes up in the next fifteen minutes."

"What about Beau? Do you really want me down there? And if you go around them . . . " he stopped when Ben started shaking his head.

"I'm not sure it matters much anymore. We kept Bret away and it doesn't look like it did much good. If he's gonna get it, he's gonna get it."

That had been the only argument Beau had been able to come up with, and Ben wasn't buying it. He gave up and tried to get past his brother again. "I'm not leavin' him," he stated flatly.

"Beau," Ben said blocking his way again.

Beauregard glared at the "little" brother blocking his way. Ben was still smaller than him, just a tad shorter, and built slimmer than he was, but it wasn't nearly as easy to outmuscle him now as it had been when they were younger.

"Don't give me that look," Ben continued. "I got my orders."

"What orders?" Beau asked irritably wondering what in the world his brother was talking about.

"From Doc. He told me to try and get you to clean up some tonight, maybe even eat somethin'."

"So you tried."

"He also said if you didn't listen to me you get to deal with him tomorrow."

This time, the eye roll came from Beau. "Meddlin' old man," he mumbled, jerking his arm out of Ben's hand. He gestured to the door. "What if he wakes up?"

"I'll tell him you'll be right back. If you go on now you'll probably be done before either one of 'em does wake up, you know."

"Alright," he agreed, but it was under duress. He stuck his finger in Ben's face. "But you'd better not leave that room."

A lot of people would have taken offence at the gesture but Ben was used to it. He merely swatted Beau's finger out of the way and responded with a sarcastic, "Yes, sir." Beau glared but Ben ignored that too. "Go on. You'll feel better."

Beauregard started down the stairs. He would feel better if he took a few minutes to see to some personal hygiene, he knew Ben was right about that. He only hoped Ben was right about the boys remaining asleep until he returned. The last thing he wanted was for Bart to wake up and see his father gone.


	18. Not to Blame

Beauregard had gone downstairs with the intention of rushing through the task of cleaning up as quickly as possible, but once he started one thing led to another until nearly half an hour had been eaten up. He'd just meant to change his shirt, but after getting the old one off and seeing a basin full of heated water, it had only made sense that he wash up some. Seeing as how he was getting undressed and the water was there. He shaved after that, and he'd learned years ago it didn't pay to get in a hurry when a straight razor was involved. Then he'd eaten. That hadn't been planned either, but he knew the plate of ham and eggs hadn't been left there accidentally. Eating would keep Ben and Doc off his back, and it had been a while since he'd eaten.

The last thing he did before going upstairs was to take the shirt he had been wearing and toss it in the fireplace. Watching one of his tailored shirts go up in flames would have been painful under normal circumstances, but tonight he didn't give it a thought. Compared to having both his boys trying to fight off scarlet fever, the loss of one shirt seemed inconsequential; it would be easy enough to replace.

Feeling more human than he had in days Beau turned to go back upstairs. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. He wasn't sure how bad scarlet fever could get, although based on Doc's reluctance to tell him he was guessing it was bad, but Doc had yet to seem overly concerned about Bart. So far, Doc claimed that everything that had happened was to be expected. As for Bret they would just have to wait and see, but again, Doc wasn't acting concerned. The last few days had been rough, and the next few days would be rough, but he was starting to think that maybe he had overreacted some. So long as they both came out of this, they would be alright, and Beau finally believed they would come out of this. Of course they would, they were Mavericks after all.

Opening the bedroom door, Beau found his brother in the chair he'd spent so many countless hours in lately. He was about to enter when Ben turned and held up a hand, mouthing the word, 'wait'.

Beau was curious, but stopped and waited for his brother outside. Ben got up and met him on the landing.

"What's wrong?" Beau demanded his stomach dropping. There were a dozen things he imagined Ben was about to tell him and none of them were good.

"Nothin'," Ben replied shutting the door behind him. "I just wanted to talk and thought out here was better."

"Did they wake up?"

"Bret did."

"Did he ask about me?"

"Yes."

"And?" A tension-filled voice asked the question.

"I told him you had to go downstairs and you'd be right back."

"And?" It was more of a growl this time.

"And he went back to sleep, Beau. Calm down."

"Then what do you want?"

Ben sighed. "To tell you about what happened between the time he asked about you and the time he went back to sleep. And to ask you not to go in there and dress the boy down about hiding he was sick."

Beau's eyes flashed as he looked at his brother, offended that Ben thought he needed to be told this. "You think I'd yell at my sick son for being sick?"

"No. But I do think you're frustrated, and you're worried, and if you try to talk to him now you'll have a tone, even if you don't mean to, and he'd end up thinking you're mad at him. He's scared, Beau, and he don't need that right now."

Beau's stomach clenched. He'd been the one who'd seen Bret trying to be brave when Doc had told him he had scarlet fever. He'd been the one who'd seen the fear in Bret's eyes when he looked over at Bart and saw firsthand what was coming his way. He was the one who had sat on the bed and had Bret move closer and lean against him; something Bret rarely did anymore. He knew all too well how afraid Bret was. "I know he's scared," he said.

That uncomfortable silence fell between them again, and Beauregard couldn't help but feel a little satisfied that it was Ben's fault this time. "Anything else?" he finally asked.

"Yeah. He thinks all this is his fault."

"All what?"

Ben gestured toward the bedroom. "This. The scarlet fever, and Bart, and . . . all of this."

"Why?"

"He thinks Bart's sick because he didn't take good enough care of him." Ben had been debating on how much to tell his brother. It wasn't the time to tell Beauregard he'd been letting Bret shoulder too much of the responsibility, but during the brief talk he'd had with his nephew, it had become plain that Bret was still blaming himself for what had happened. And Beau needed to know about that.

"That's ridiculous."

"Yes, it is. But it's real to him, and he's afraid you're gonna be mad at him when you find out it's his fault."

Beau dropped his eyes and thought about what Ben had just told him. Whether he meant to or not, Beau knew he did tend to get an agitated tone when he was talking about something he didn't like. That was why Ben had told him not to bring anything up with Bret right now. Bret wasn't just scared because he was sick, Bret was afraid of him. That was a sobering thought, and one Beau didn't like in the slightest.

Beau had to clear his throat to rid it of the unexpected lump that had lodged itself in there before he could speak again. "Thanks, Ben. I need to, uhhh . . . thanks, Ben." This time, when Beau tried to move past his brother, he received no interference.

After shutting himself back up in the sick room, Beauregard looked between his boys, again feeling helpless and overwhelmed. But the short break had done him good and he felt better able to deal with everything. A lamp was sitting beside each of the boy's beds with a low flame burning; dark enough to let them sleep, but bright enough so Beau could keep watch. He went to Bart first.

His younger son appeared to be unchanged. Beau hadn't expected anything different and when he laid his hand on Bart's forehead was unsurprised to find the fever still there and still high. He spent the next several minutes seeing to Bart, washing off his face and neck, readjusting his blankets, and generally trying to make his son as comfortable as possible. After doing all he could, Beau gently kissed Bart's forehead and went to see to his firstborn.

Bret was also asleep, and Beauregard began repeating the actions he'd just gone through with Bart. Bret's fever wasn't as high but it was still early, he didn't doubt it would continue to climb as the night went on. In the dim light he almost missed it, but as he was wiping Bret's face he saw it; the beginnings of a small red splotch.

Finishing his task Beauregard threw the rag back in the basin and roughly ran his hands through his hair. Sighing heavily, he propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. Between the start of Bret's eruption and the talk he'd just had with Ben, his optimism was quickly fading. Why was this happening? He couldn't do this alone; he needed Belle. The boys needed Belle. They needed Belle much more than they needed him. If the good Lord had seen fit to take one of them why couldn't he have left Belle and taken him instead, it would've been better for the boys that way. Belle's touch would be far more soothing than his, and she'd raise them up right too. He was doing the best he could with them, but he wasn't sure Belle would approve of the way he was doing it. Belle had never wanted them to grow up to be gamblers; Beauregard didn't know how to teach them to be anything else.

Beau straightened abruptly. He was starting to sicken himself with his pity party. He was here, Belle wasn't. It was as simple as that. Maybe he didn't think it was right, but that's how it was and no amount of whining was going to change it. It was just a shame he wasn't as good at raising children as he was poker, the poor kids might stand a chance then.

He looked at Bret and felt a pang remembering what Ben had said. Did Bret really think he was going to be mad at him because Bart was sick? He thought back to the times in the past when one of the boys had been afraid Pappy was going to be mad. The time Bart's best shirt had ended up with a six-inch tear in the sleeve. The time they had both ended up in the pond during the social at the Larson's place. The time almost two dozen of Belle's cookies had disappeared from the kitchen while she was baking only to turn up later in the form of two sick little boys. The time a deck of his new cards had vanished, and been returned five cards shy. And most recently the busted nose Bret had "accidently" given Travis Cain after he'd picked on Bart. Those were the kind of things boys should be worried about getting in trouble for, not because their brother was sick. Was he doing such a bad job of this that Bret actually believed he was going to get blamed for this?

Beauregard shook his head. He couldn't think about this right now; his mind and his body were too tired. Giving Bret a kiss like he had Bart, Beau laid his head over on Bret's bed to try and get some much-needed sleep. He'd talk to Bret tomorrow, maybe they would both be in a better frame of mind by then.

XXXXXXX

The next time Bret woke up, the sun was just starting to rise. He felt hot and achy all over, and his throat still hurt. It took a moment for him to remember that he was back in his own room and Doc had said yesterday that he had scarlet fever too; that's why he felt so bad. Moaning softly he rolled over and his foot hit something. He heard a grunt and looked over to find Pappy sitting beside him, just like he had been beside Bart yesterday.

Pappy was in his chair and been sitting with his feet up on Bret's bed. He'd obviously been sleeping, but started to stir when Bret had kicked his foot. Pappy winced as he straightened, but smiled a little when he saw Bret awake. "Hey, boy, how you feelin'?"

"Sick," Bret replied after he'd coughed.

"I'm sorry, son," Pappy said as he started to wipe Bret's face. When he was done with that, Pappy picked up the cup of water for the bedside table. "Drink somethin' for me?"

"Not thirsty," Bret mumbled. Drinking meant swallowing, and swallowing hurt.

"You need to drink it anyway."

Bret nodded, understanding what was being said. Pappy was asking now, but if he continued to refuse, Pappy would stop asking and start telling. Pappy moved to help him sit up, but before he could Bret pushed himself up, still determined to cause as few problems as possible for his father.

Pappy looked surprised as he held out the cup. "Need any help?"

Bret shook his head, and a coughing fit started.

Bret curled up on himself when he started coughing. He'd done too much of this the last day or so, and his chest and stomach hurt. As he was hacking, Pappy moved over, sat down beside him, and pulled him closer, helping to brace his chest. After a minute, the coughing subsided, and Pappy started rubbing his back.

"Here," Pappy said, handing him the cup. The cool water felt good to his irritated throat, and he drank about half the cup before passing it back. "Better?"

Bret nodded and pulled away. Pappy hadn't held him like that since Mama had died, and Bret figured he was only doing it because he was sick. Being sick was probably the only thing that was saving him from a lecture too.

"How's Bart," he asked, as he lay down.

Pappy started to tuck him back in. "His fever's still high, but I think he's a little better this morning."

Bret looked to his brother and smiled some. "Good." He hoped Bart was better. He didn't even care if he was sick, so long as Bart got better.

Pappy suddenly cleared his throat, and Bret winced. He supposed Pappy was ready to talk about Bart now. "Bret."

"Yes, sir?" Bret answered.

"I talked to your uncle some yesterday."

"I'm sorry," Bret whispered before Pappy could get any further. He wondered just how much Uncle Ben had told Pappy. "I didn't mean . . . " Another coughing fit cut him off.

"Hush, boy," Pappy told him once he'd settled down. "You don't need to be talkin' right now." He took a deep breath and leaned forward. "Bret, this is not your fault. Bart gettin' sick had nothin' to do with you." Bret didn't reply. "You hear me, boy?" he asked stroking Bret's cheek.

Bret was confused. Pappy didn't do things like this; sitting by the bed and holding him and Bart. And if Pappy had talked to Uncle Ben, why wasn't he mad? "It is," he insisted. Why was Pappy with him anyway? He should be taking care of Bart, one of them should be. "I didn't take care of him." Another cough.

Pappy sighed. "Bret."

There was the tone Bret had been waiting for and he flinched back again.

Before he said anything else, Pappy took a deep breath. "Bret," he said again, his tone much softer. "You haven't done anything wrong. Do you understand me? This is not your fault. The only thing I want you to think about is getting better. Alright?"

Bret was more confused than ever, but he wasn't going to argue. He didn't want to get fussed at right now anyway. He nodded. "Yes, sir."

Pappy patted his arm. "I'm gonna go check on your brother. You just rest until Doc gets here, alright?"

Again Bret simply nodded and watched as Pappy went over the Bart's bed. He still wasn't sure why Pappy was acting so strange, but at least he wasn't mad . . . yet. Bret was willing to accept the reprieve for as long as it lasted.


	19. The Beginning of the End

The next day was a nightmare. Bart's fever, which Beauregard had been so sure was dropping, had risen again as night fell. It didn't spike like before, but the tossing and mumbling had remained. He still slept a lot, but it was a fitful rest at best. On a positive note, the times he did wake up he was alert and responsive; miserable, but responsive. Beauregard was hoping that was a sign the worst of the fever was behind Bart.

Since Bart had more or less joined the land of the living again, Doc started giving him the watered-down wine he'd talked about before. Bart was naturally suspicious at first, but when he found out there was going to be no ill effects from the draught and the taste wasn't bad he was willing enough to drink it. Doc had yet to give any definite word, but overall he seemed pleased with how Bart looked, particularly the condition of his throat. The ulcers were much smaller, and a lot of the swelling had gone down making it easier for Bart to swallow, Doc claimed the wine was helping with that too.

The one thing about Bart that did lift Beauregard's spirits was the rash. The bright, livid rash that had graced Bart's face and neck for days was at long last starting to fade. Rough patches of skin were left where the color had once been, and were starting to peel, but Bart didn't look nearly as ill now that his skin was fading back to its natural color. Doc was still sure to remind Beauregard that Bart was far from well, but he did admit that there was some improvement. Bret, however, was another matter; where it seemed like Bart had just about made it over the worst, poor Bret's sickness was just beginning.

When Doc examined the elder Maverick son, he found things much the same as he had for the younger, but none of it looked quite as bad as Bart's had. The ulcers appeared smaller, and the tissue of Bret's throat didn't look as irritated and inflamed, still wholly unpleasant and painful, but not as bad. Doc also started Bret on the watered wine with the hope he could curb the sickness some, the ulcers and the pain in his throat anyway. Bret was still facing the same rash and fever that had plagued his brother, but there was little Doc could do about either of those. Beauregard did notice Bret's rash didn't look as bad as Bart's, it was more pinkish color and the patches didn't feel as rough, but it did itch. That was a problem they hadn't faced with Bart, but Doc couldn't say much about it except sometimes it happened. The fever hadn't gotten as high either, but saying Bret's condition looked good was relative. He didn't look as bad as Bart but Doc couldn't say the sickness was going to be any easier for him, and even if it was, he was still plenty miserable and not much could be done to ease his symptoms.

The next day ended up being exactly like the previous one had, and it passed in a blur for Beauregard as he did his best to nurse his ailing boys back to health. He was weary of this whole terrible ordeal, and it was starting to wear him down both mentally and physically. Bart's rash did fade, but his fever continued to fluctuate. It wasn't quite as high, it now seemed to hover around one hundred and three, but it was still enough to make Bart feel terrible. The delirium finally seemed to be done with, however, and it was an improvement Beauregard was grateful for. As for Bret, he surprisingly but blessedly, didn't get much worse. The fever had yet to spike the way Bart's had, and his throat only seemed to improve. The only explanation Doc could give for the difference – it was undeniable Bret had scarlet fever – was that Bret had indeed gotten a much milder form of the sickness. Beauregard was glad it appeared Bret wasn't going to have to suffer as much, but it did make Bart's sickness even more pitiable. He couldn't say he was surprised, though, it seemed Bart always got the worst of things.

Beauregard was profoundly grateful for the improvements in the boy's health, and he wouldn't have wanted it any other way, but the improvement did come with a drawback for a man who was almost at the end of his rope. The lower grade fever meant Bart wasn't sleeping quite as much, and after a week of sickness the boy wasn't at his best. He was whiny and a little clingy, while Bret's sickness seemed to make him unusually sullen. Trying to take care of them both had made for two very long, very tiring days where the Maverick patriarch was concerned.

It was the next morning, exactly a week since being rudely awakened with the news Bart was sick, Beauregard woke up to the smell of coffee. Opening his eyes, he found his brother next to him with a cup and a smile. "Mornin," Ben said.

"What are you so happy about?" Beau mumbled, sitting up stiffly and taking the offered coffee.

"Why not? It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day, Bart's almost back to his normal color, Bret soon will be, and Beau's still fine."

"He gonna stay that way?"

"Doc thinks so. He's been looking at him every day and thinks there would be a sign of something by now if anything was going to happen. Of course, he's about to go stir crazy but otherwise, he's okay."

Beauregard stood, stretching his back. "Good. 'Bout time we caught a break. Thanks for the coffee."

"Need anything else?"

Beau shook his head. "Nothin' you can get me. Just send Doc up when he comes."

"If you change your mind holler."

Beau nodded vaguely as his brother left. He checked on both boys and was pleased to find Ben was right; Bart was almost his normal color, and unless he was imaging things the rash on Bret's face had started to fade too. They were both still sleeping and he certainly wasn't going to wake either one so he went over to the window and looked out on the small ranch as he drank his coffee. It did look like it was going to be a beautiful day, and he felt the beginnings of a smile, his first in a week. Surely Doc would have some good news today.

Hearing something behind him, Beauregard turned and found Bret stirring. Pulling the chair closer to Bret's bed, he sat down. "How you feelin' this mornin'?"

Bret pushed himself sort of upright. "Alright, I guess. Kinda hot."

Beau felt his son's forehead. Yes, there was fever, but he seemed so much cooler than he had last night. He seemed to be beating this faster than Bart, thank God. "You've still got some fever. Want a drink?"

"Sure."

Beau leaned over to get the water glass, his brows furrowed. He didn't like the way Bret sounded. Physically, he seemed to be improving but he was so sullen; he didn't like seeing his normally smiling, happy son like that. Sure, he was sick, but Beauregard had a feeling there was something more than that going on. "How's your throat feel?" he asked after Bret had drunk something.

Bret swallowed. "Better."

"Still hurtin'?"

"A little," was Bret's answer as he started to scratch at one of his arms.

Beauregard put his hand on his son's before Bret could start clawing at his arm. "Still itchin'?" he wanted to know.

Bret's only reply was a nod. Beauregard started to rub his hand over the pink patch of skin on Bret's arm, trying to take care of the itching without letting Bret go to work on it with his nails. After a minute, he felt Bret relax some. "Better?"

"Yeah."

"You want somethin' to eat? I can get Ben to bring you some porridge."

Bret was silent for a moment before nodding. "Okay." Wanting to eat was a testament to the fact he was feeling better, that he didn't try to negotiate for something besides porridge was a testament to the fact he still wasn't in top form.

"You sure you're feelin' alright?"

"Uhh-huh."

Beauregard still didn't like the short, quiet answers he was getting but didn't pursue the questioning any further. Bret had been battling a fever the last few days; he supposed it was natural for him to be a little out of sorts.

He hollered down to Ben and soon had two bowls of porridge. Putting one aside for Bart, he helped Bret sit up all the way and gave him the other.

Bret had almost made it through his bowl when Doc came in. Doc smiled when he saw Bret sitting up and eating. "Well, I'm glad to see that," he said taking a seat. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Bret almost smiled in return. "Better. My throat don't hurt as bad either."

"Good. Still itching?"

"Some. But Pappy won't let me scratch."

"He's not supposed to. Are you about ready to get out of that bed?"

Bret nodded. "Yes, sir."

Doc chuckled. "Alright, you finish eating and we'll talk about when that might happen."

Bret nodded and started eating again.

Doc stood up and came up to Beauregard. "How are things going for you?"

"Fine," Beau mumbled, confused. Bret had seemed so much more animated when he was talking to Doc, more like himself. Beau tried to think of what the difference could be, but couldn't find anything. A bowl of Bret's less than favorite breakfast wouldn't have done it. Oh well, he'd deal with it later. "They both slept most of the night," he said, giving the doctor his full attention.

"You get any sleep?"

"As much as I could in a chair."

"Good. Hopefully, you won't have to do that much longer. Let's see what we're dealing with today."

Doc looked over both Bret and Bart and then delivered the best news Beauregard had heard in years. Barring any freakish, unforeseeable circumstances, the boys were officially on the mend. Bret was still carrying around some of the pink rash, and the sore throat and slight fever were likely to hang on a few more days. Doc wanted him in the bed for another day or so, mostly to ensure he got enough rest, but otherwise, as soon as he felt like it, he could get up. As for Bart, everything continued to look good, but it looked like the fever was going to be slower to let go. Doc told Beau to expect the fever, at the very least a low-grade fever, to remain for at least another week. He'd also warned it would be some time before Bart probably felt like doing much. He'd been very sick and it would take time for him to get his strength back. For now, the instructions were to keep him in bed.

After the exams, Doc gave Beauregard new instructions, enough to send his mind spinning again. For the first time since Bart's fever had started, Doc mentioned what was going to happen after the fevers were gone. He started telling Beauregard about giving the boys baths, and oil that would help clear up the peeling skin left from the rashes. How much longer it would be before they could see their cousin again, and when they would be able to start back to school. And the most daunting task of all, cleaning the house and everything in it when this was all over.

Beauregard wasn't sure what kind of expression was on his face, but it must have been something close to horror. When Doc finished his "brief" explanation on disinfecting the house he patted the man on the shoulder.

"It's not something that needs to be done right now. Get them both well first. Or at least mostly well."

"You make it all sound easy," Beau mumbled.

"The house isn't as bad as it sounds. And you've done just fine with the boys; they couldn't have had better care the last few days."

Beau scoffed. "I'm not so sure about that."

Doc raised one eyebrow slightly before nodding to Bret. "If he feels like it, you might try a bath today. The oil will probably help that itching some, and help him rest better."

Beau nodded as he shook Doc's hand. "Alright. Thanks, Doc. See you tomorrow."

"For a little while longer, it seems." Doc started out the door but stopped right before he crossed the threshold. "You are doing fine, Beau."

XXXXXXX

Bret had heard most of what Doctor Jennings had said during both his and Bart's examinations and before he had left. And he wasn't very happy about it. He didn't feel well, but he felt better today than he had the last three maybe even four days. He actually felt like eating today, even if porridge was all he could get and the idea of being able to get out of bed was starting to sound appealing. His fever wasn't so bad today either, and when Doc had talked to him the man had sounded like he fully expected Bret to be up and around soon. So why was Bart still so sick?

He knew Bart still felt terrible. He was still sleeping a lot, he wasn't talking much, and Pappy had to help him eat today. Even without the bright red color on his cheeks, Bart looked sick as a dog, and Doc had told Pappy to keep Bart in bed. Bret couldn't figure it out; Bart had been sick a lot longer than he had been, but he was almost better and Bart wasn't. He hadn't even gotten as sick as Bart.

Bret sighed, guilt assaulting him. He had hoped when he had gotten sick that it meant Bart was going to get better and soon. Bret had sort of thought that getting sick was his punishment for making Bart sick, that maybe he was going to have to be sick instead of Bart. He had even thought for a while that he might die instead of Bart. Of course, Doc was now saying no one was going to die, which Bret was very happy about, but Bart was still really sick. He just didn't understand. This was his fault; it wasn't fair that Bart wasn't better.

Bret looked over to his father. Pappy was with Bart again, wiping Bart's face off again and talking to him softly. Bret was glad to see Pappy looking after Bart, but he felt just a little jealous that he wasn't able to help. He hadn't been able to talk to Bart yet, and he really wanted to. He wanted Bart to know how sorry he really was and to tell him he would never do anything like this again. He wouldn't ever complain about having to take care of Bart again, and if Bart made him late for school for the rest of his life that would be okay, just as long as he got better. Pappy had said this wasn't his fault, but Pappy didn't know the whole story yet. When he found out, he would probably change his mind.

His stomach started to itch and Bret began scratching at it. At least, Bart's rash didn't itch. Maybe this was his punishment because it was sure enough about to drive him crazy. Doc had said it would get better soon, but Bret had his doubts. And Pappy just wouldn't let him scratch. Even as the thought came to him he heard his name, spoken in an admonishing tone. Bret wasn't sure when Pappy had left Bart, but he was standing over him now.

"You're not supposed to do that," Pappy said taking his hand and once again stopping his scratching.

"It itches," Bret whined. He didn't usually whine, that was for baby's, but he was itching so badly.

"I know it does. I also know you'd claw yourself to pieces if I'd let you," Beau replied as he started rubbing the affected area. Bret sighed. The rubbing helped; it wasn't as good as scratching, but it helped.

"Doc said a bath might help," Pappy said as he continued to try and rid Bret of the itching. "You feel up to it?"

"Will it help?"

"I don't know. I don't think it'll hurt anything. Wanna try?"

Bret nodded willing to at least try.

Since Pappy didn't want him going downstairs just yet, an actual bath wasn't possible. Instead, he had Uncle Ben bring up hot water, and helped Bret wash off. It wasn't the same as being in a tub but it still felt good. After his "bath" Pappy rubbed oil on his arms, back, neck, and everywhere else the rash had broken out. The oil did help soothe the itching, and Bret kind of enjoyed having Pappy take care of him for a while. The last thing Pappy did was get him a clean nightshirt, and by the time Bret got it on, he was ready for bed. The bath had felt good, but it was tiring for someone who'd been running a high fever and hadn't been out of bed in three days. Bret was grateful when it was over and he could get back in bed.

As he was snuggling down into his blankets, Pappy sat down beside him. "Bret, I wanna talk to you about something."

Bret froze, anticipating a talk concerning Bart. "What?" he asked quietly.

"Somethin' seems to be botherin' you. Is it?"

Bret's eyes fell on his younger brother. "Bart," he answered after a long pause.

"What about him?"

"He's still sick. Why ain't he gettin' better too?"

"He is gettin' better, boy. He's a lot better."

"Not as fast as me."

"No, but he was a lot sicker than you. It's gonna take him a little longer."

"Why?" That still didn't make sense to Bret. They both had Scarlatina, didn't they?  
Pappy chuckled and rubbed his eyes like he was tired. "Because it's Bart, I guess."

Bret's brows furrowed not understanding what Pappy meant by that. "What?"

"He always gets sicker," Pappy tried to explain. "I don't know why. He . . . he just always does. But he is gettin' better and he is goin' to be fine. So, don't worry about it. Pretty soon you'll both be up and gettin' into trouble with Beau again."

Bret wasn't sure he believed all that but he nodded. He couldn't argue with Pappy and he didn't know how to explain his feelings any other way right now; he was almost too tired to keep his eyes open anyway.

"Go to sleep," Pappy said as he pushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. "You'll feel better in the morning, and I bet Bart will too."

Bret closed his eyes and hoped Pappy was right. Bart didn't deserve to be sick anyway.


	20. Revelations

For the first time in a week, Beauregard felt he could relax. He managed to get a decent night's rest that night, and by the time Doc left the next morning, he felt like things had settled enough for Ben to go home. Bentley had done a lot for him the last year and a half, and Beauregard knew his brother was more than willing to give whatever help he could whenever it was needed, especially regarding the boys they were now raising alone, but when he told Ben to go home, Ben was more than willing to go. Ben hadn't seen his own home in a week, and both the elder Mavericks had learned long ago they got along much better when they had their own space.

After seeing his brother and a blessedly healthy Beau off, Beauregard spent the rest of the day with the boys. Bret was still a bit sullen, but physically he seemed to be improving by the hour. And finally, Bart was starting to show some notable change. By the end of the day, he was even sitting up and talking some.

The next morning went much the same way. Beau had to do all the work himself now making things a little more hectic, but not unmanageable, and porridge was again on the menu for breakfast. Neither boy seemed very enthused about the meal, and Beauregard couldn't have been happier; that was a sure sign they were getting better. After the porridge, Beau went back downstairs leaving Bret with a deck of cards, and Bart almost asleep. The younger boy still tired easily and the act of eating seemed to wear him out.

Beauregard still planned on spending most of his time with the boys, but now that they were on the mend, he didn't feel guilty about seeing to his personal needs or taking a few minutes to himself. The first order of business was his breakfast and he quickly fried up some ham. After that he went to his bedroom where he washed up, shaved, and changed clothes. Feeling almost human again, Beau wandered back out to the kitchen to finish off his pot of coffee before going back upstairs. He was almost done with his first cup when he heard a soft knock on the front door. He was surprised when Ben entered.

"Ain't you seen enough of this place?" he asked with a smile as Ben joined him in the kitchen.

"Plenty. But I wanted to talk and figured if that was gonna happen anytime soon, I's gonna have to come back. You got a minute?"

Beau's answer was to motion his brother to sit. Filling another cup with coffee, he set it in front of Ben and took the seat opposite of him. "So talk."

Ben stared at his coffee a moment before looking back at his brother. "Beauregard, you're my brother, and I'd do anything in the world for you."

Beauregard sighed. "You ain't about to get sentimental on me, are you?"

Ben chuckled. "Not exactly. I just want you to know this is for your own good because I care about you and those boys."

Beauregard eyed his brother warily, uncomfortable with the sound of things. He wasn't in the mood for, nor did he have time for a heart-to-heart. "Alright, Ben, say what you gotta say."

A deep breath proceeded Ben's next words. "Like I said, you're my brother and I care more about you than just about anybody else and Lord knows I respect you. But when it comes to being a father, well, you've been doing a pretty pitiful job lately."

Beau set his cup down with a little more force than necessary, his brows furrowing. "What does that mean?" he asked feeling his defenses start to rise.

"Bret's havin' a hard time right now; he's been havin' a hard time. If you haven't been able to see that . . . ."

"What do you mean by a hard time?"

"Since Belle's been . . . . "

"We've all had a hard time since Belle's been gone. He ain't alone in that." The infamous Beauregard Maverick temper was flaring again and it was taking a good deal of willpower to stay seated.

Ben was quiet for a moment before he calmly continued. "I know it's hard; believe me, I know. But you're asking too much of him, Beau. He's just a boy."

"I'm not askin' anythin' of him," Beauregard growled. Whatever Ben was going on about he'd just about heard enough. "He does what any other boy his age is doin'. He goes to school and he does a few chores; he's fine."

"He's not fine, and he's doin' a lot more than that. Who gets him up in the mornings, who gets Bart up? Who makes sure they eat breakfast and lunch? In case you don't know, Bret does. All of it. He doesn't get a lot of help from Bart with the chores either. In fact, he does good to get Bart out of bed at all. And after he takes care of all that, he goes to school and has to make excuses for being late because he's tryin' to take care of himself and his brother and a ranch on his own. And when the teacher has finally had enough and tries to talk to his father about it, the stubborn jackass refuses to meet with her. Won't even acknowledge that she contacted him, putting the poor boy in an awkward position he shouldn't have to be in."

Ben finally paused for breath and Beauregard took advantage of the opportunity. "Are you done?"

"No."

"Yes, you are," Beau snapped as he stood up. Bracing his hands on the table, Beauregard leaned across it, drilling his brother with a look that would have caused anyone else to falter. "Who are you to advise me on how to be a father? I've had some bad days, I still do, but, at least, I've never thought about leavin' them." It was a cheap shot; words that were meant to hit Ben in one of his most vulnerable spots. It worked . . . sort of. Ben flinched slightly, but to his credit and Beau's surprise, his gaze never wavered.

"That's right, _thought_ ," Ben replied tensely. "But I'm still here. Thanks to you."

Surprised by the credit Ben had just given him, Beau backed off. He remained standing, but he stayed on his side of the table.

There had been problems when Ben's wife had given birth to their son, problems serious enough that for the first few days no one had been able to tell Ben whether his wife would live to help him raise their son. Panicked, fearful, and overwhelmed, Ben had come very close to running; leaving his son behind without a backward glance. It had been Beauregard that had helped ground Ben during those days. Helped him to see what he'd be letting go, and had kept him, in Beauregard's own words, from making the worst mistake of his life. Well, it was Ben's turn now. His turn to help ground his fearful and overwhelmed brother.

Ben sighed. He wasn't looking to pick a fight, but he loved his brother and nephews too much to ignore what Bret had told him. "I didn't come to run you down; I came to tell you how hard Bret's tryin' to keep things together. And he's doin' a mighty fine job of it, but's that's the hell of it, Beau. He's doin' such a fine job that you ain't noticed anything's wrong. You don't see how hard it is for him; how much the situation with Miss Potter and school's eatin' at him. You don't see how he's actin' like mama and pappy to Bart." Ben shook his head. "That's not his job, Beau. You're the pappy, and your boys need you to start actin' like one again."

Beauregard glared at his brother for a long minute before pushing away from the table. "I don't have to listen to this," he said his voice a low growl. Not giving Ben a chance to say anything else, Beauregard stormed outside taking a deep breath once he was in the yard.

Just who did Ben think he was? Coming over here and telling him how to raise his children. It was because of unsolicited advice like his brother had just dispensed that Beauregard refused to meet with his son's teacher. He didn't need anyone's opinion on how to handle their lives. They were doing fine; all of them. Hadn't he told Bret just a few days ago that he wanted to know if his son had a problem? If Bret was having the trouble Ben claimed he was, he would tell him.

Unable to stay in one place Beau started walking. As he made his way around the small ranch he started to think about what Ben had said concerning the chores. The boys had the job of seeing to the animals in the mornings, the chickens, the one milk cow, and the horses; that wasn't so much. There were a few other things that had to be seen to, but the animals were the biggest task. Beau didn't think it was unreasonable work for them, it wasn't any more than he and Ben had done as children. How hard could it be to take care of things before they left for school?

Hearing a nicker, Beau looked to the corral and found the horses watching him expectantly. Grimacing, he realized they hadn't been fed this morning; nothing had been done this morning since Ben hadn't been here. "Alright, I'm comin'," he told the animals as he made his way to the barn. It looked like he would be seeing to things today.

By the time he'd taken care of the horses, the chickens, and milked that ornery cow – Lord he hated milking – more time had passed than he'd anticipated. Beau found himself thinking about the question that had come to mind earlier, how difficult it would be for the boys to get everything done before school? He was willing to admit the daily chores took more time than he'd remembered, but still, for two people, even boys, it shouldn't pose a problem. Providing there was indeed two working . . . but if there was only one.

His brother's words started to come back to him, and Beauregard felt a twinge of guilt. He'd never given much thought to who did what as far as the chores went. He'd never seen the point, so long as things got done. He just expected them to be done when he woke up and they always were; he'd never thought that perhaps Bret was doing everything alone. It had also never occurred to him just how difficult it probably was for Bret to get his brother up in the mornings, even though it should have. Beau knew from firsthand experience how hard it could be to drag Bart out of bed; even Belle used to talk about the times she had trying to get their youngest moving.

Sighing he leaned back over the rails of the corral and continued to think about what Ben had said. He was willing to admit that Ben may have had a point about the chores, but that didn't mean he was right about everything else. Saying Bret was taking care of an entire ranch by himself or taking care of Bart like a father was preposterous. Maybe he wasn't up every day when they left for school but that didn't mean he wasn't around. If they needed him he was there.

Blowing out a harsh breath, Beauregard looked down and saw something that changed everything. There was a patch job on the corral. The two bottom boards by the barn had been kicked down and someone had tried to repair it, and frankly it was a pretty shoddy job. It was keeping the horses in for now, but the work had definitely been done by someone who hadn't had the skills or knowledge necessary to affect an attractive or lasting repair. Beau closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He remembered now Bret had told him weeks ago "that stupid horse a Bart's" had kicked part of the fence down, and asked him to look at it. He wondered how long Bret had waited until he tried to take of the problem himself.

He lifted his head and took a deep breath. Was he really there when the boys needed him? Sure he was there for the big things, like Scarlet Fever, but what about the little day to day things? When was the last time he had seen the boys off to school? Thinking back he couldn't remember doing it since school had started again. He then remembered that odd look Bret had given him when he'd told his son he wanted to know about his problems. Bret had tried to talk about his problems, school problems anyway, and Beau had cut him off. Was that why Bret hadn't told him about being sick? Did he think his father didn't care? Beauregard groaned; he'd always worried about being a terrible father and low and behold, he was one. He had left his elder son to take care of things, including his younger brother, for well over a year. And Bret had been doing just that. It wasn't right, and there was no excuse Beauregard could think of that would make it right. He could only hope it wasn't too late to make amends with Bret.

He hurried back into the house and found his brother right where he'd left him. "Ben," he greeted setting the milk he'd brought in on the table.

"Beauregard."

He hated admitting he'd been wrong, and if there was any way around doing it, he'd gladly take it. Thankfully it was only Ben he had to confess to. "I've been uhhh thinkin' . . . " Beau cleared his throat. "Anyway umm . . ." He gave his brother a half smile. "Thanks, Ben."

Ben shrugged. "Just returnin' the favor."

Beau turned to go back upstairs. He had a lot of making up to do with his son, both of them really but especially Bret, and there was no better time to start than now.

He hadn't made it out of the kitchen before Ben called out. "Beau."

Beauregard stopped, getting a sinking feeling as he looked to his brother. "You're not done, are you?" Ben wordlessly shook his head. Sighing, Beau sat back down. "What else have I done?"

Ben chuckled sadly. "This isn't so much you as Bret. But I think you need to know about it."

XXXXXXX

Bret was sitting on his bed playing Maverick Saltire. He was feeling a lot better today, and Doc had said he could get up whenever he felt like it, but Bret really didn't want to. There wasn't too much point in getting up anyway. He still couldn't go outside, and there wasn't anything he could do anywhere else in the house that he couldn't do here. Besides, staying put meant he could keep an eye on Bart.

He was wondering if Pappy would agree to a game when he came back up when he heard a soft moan. Jerking his head around to look at his brother, he saw Bart stirring. Abandoning the cards and went over to his brother's bed.

"Bart?" he asked sitting on the bed.

Bart opened his eyes. He blinked in confusion when he saw his brother. "Bret?"

Bret smiled. Bart's voice was scratchy and he still looked tired, but he was talking and he didn't look nearly as sick. "How are you feelin' today?"

"Okay." Bart looked around and got an unsettled look. "Where's Pappy? Did he leave?"

"He had to go downstairs. He'll be back soon. You need somethin'?"

"Thirsty."

Bret got up and poured Bart some water. Taking it to his brother he helped Bart drink, and then tucked him back in just like he had dozens of times before. "I think your fever's gone down," he said putting a hand to Bart's forehead. He still wasn't sure how Bart was supposed to feel, but he didn't think he felt as hot as he had a few days ago. "Do you feel like it has?"

Bart shrugged. "I'm not cold anymore."

"That's good."

Bart reached out and ran his fingers across a spot on Bret's arm that was still rough and slightly pink. "I'm sorry I made you sick," he said softly.

"I'm not," Bret replied with a smile. "If I haven't got sick, Pappy would still be makin' me stay downstairs. This way I can take care of you."

Bart returned smiled. "I'm glad you're here," he said before yawning.

"Go back to sleep, Bart. I promise I'll be here if you need somethin'."

Bart nodded some before closing his eyes. He was asleep in a matter of minutes. Bret thought about going back to his bed and his cards but decided against it. Now that he'd talked to Bart, he wanted to stay nearby. Instead, he got in the chair Pappy had spent so much time in lately and started his own vigil. Doc had said he could do whatever he felt like doing as long as it was inside, and right now the only thing felt like doing now was watching over Bart. A week ago he wouldn't have thought it possible, but he'd missed being able to take care of Bart since he'd been sick. After almost losing his job as a big brother, Bret didn't think he'd ever get tired of doing it again.


	21. Changing Times

After Ben left, Beauregard slowly climbed the stairs, his heart heavy. After Ben's first revelation he hadn't thought things could get much worse, and then Ben had told him the rest of the story. The story Bret had poured out to Ben only days before. His poor boy; always trying so hard to hold things together and keep everyone happy, feeling responsibility for things he had no reason to, guilt for things beyond his control. No wonder he'd been so sullen, so downcast. "He was afraid you'd hate him if you found out," Ben had said. How had they gotten to this point? Where Bret, his miniature, his pride and joy, the boy who had always looked at him with nothing but love and adoration, was afraid his father could hate him. It was heartbreaking, and Beauregard was willing to admit it was all his fault.

Ben was right; he had been doing a pitiful job as a father lately. He'd been so wrapped up in his grief he hadn't seen that Bret was having problems of his own. Bart was likely still suffering from his mother's death too. It hadn't been that long and if he still had days where it took everything he had in him just to roll out of bed, why did he think they were fine? The fact that there were no longer daily tears or complaints about nightmares didn't mean that they didn't still very keenly feel the loss of the most important woman in their lives. He had messed up, exactly as he'd been afraid of doing, and he had to fix it. Talking to Bret was a start.

Entering the bedroom he found his oldest sitting by his brother. He smiled grimly; being separated from Bart had probably been nearly as hard on Bret as the Scarlatina had been. "Hey," he said crossing the room and stopping by Bret. "Everythin' all right?"

Bret looked up, his dark eyes serious. "Uh-huh. He woke up and wanted a drink."

"It's good to see you up. You know you had me worried for a little while."

Bret's eyes became even more serious before he dropped them to the floor. "I'm sorry."

Beau sighed. Bret had uttered those words too many times the last few days. When had Bret decided he was to blame for all the Maverick's problems? "You don't have to apologize, son. I was just saying I was worried. It's not your fault." Bret wordlessly turned back to Bart. Beauregard cleared his throat. "Why don't we go back over to your bed? There's a couple of things I wanna talk to you about if you feel like it."

Beau had tried to keep his voice as light as possible but Bret still seemed to deflate when he heard the suggestion. He didn't protest, however, just got up and went back to his side of the room without so much as a glance at his father. When he sat down he drew his knees up to his chest, arms wrapping around them, eyes remaining downcast. Beau grimaced as he realized Bret was prepared to get chewed out for something.

Beauregard sat down beside his son. For a long moment he was quiet, thinking about what he needed to say and reminding himself to keep his tone even. Ben's earlier words had just about made him sick, but he was glad his brother had the guts to give him the slap upside the head that he needed. Bret was obviously afraid of what was about to happen, and Beauregard was thoroughly disgusted that he had ever let things get this way. Being afraid of punishment when he'd done something was one thing, but to have Bret fearful because his brother had gotten a sickness that even Doc couldn't give a reason for was unacceptable. Lord willing this would be the last time Bret felt the way he did now.

"Look up here, Bret," he finally said. Beauregard could tell that was the last thing Bret wanted to do but the boy did lift his eyes.

Bret had always taken his role as the oldest seriously, since the day Bart was born. He'd always been right there; ever the protector and defender of his little brother. But he'd had to take it too seriously after they'd lost Belle, and it should never have been that way. He was nine, a mere child himself, and he had a father. He should never have felt that Bart's well-being was on his shoulders. Beau pushed Bret's hair back and said what he'd always thought and should have said years ago. "'I'm really proud of you, you know." The guarded look in Bret's eyes slipped a bit. "The way you look after him," Beau continued nodding to Bart.

"He still got sick."

"We've talked about this, son. It's not your fault, it's no one's fault. It just happened."

Bret shook his head and curled up in a smaller ball. "Yes, it is."

"Bret," Beau gently admonished. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"You don't understand. I-I did. I said . . . ." Bret stopped, biting his lip.

"Bret." Beau took his son's chin and forced Bret to look at him again. "I know what you said. Ben told me he talked to you the other night; told me what you said."

"I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't. You'd never do anything to hurt him. That's not why Bart got sick."

"Then why did he?"

"Because things like that just happen sometimes. Even Doc doesn't know what caused it, but I don't want you thinkin' you had anything to do with it. All right?"

"I said I wished I didn't have to take care of him anymore."

"You didn't do anything wrong. Bart would have gotten sick even if you hadn't said anything."

"Honest?" he finally asked.

"Yes. He had already started getting sick before you said anything."

"Does-does that mean you're not . . . mad at me anymore?"

"No, I'm not mad at you. I was never mad at you. Why do you think I was mad at you?"

"You sounded mad. The first day Bart was sick, and the day I got sick . . . ."

Beauregard put his arm around Bret and pulled his son closer. "I wasn't mad, son. I was worried. I may have been a little mad at myself for not noticing Bart was getting sick, but I was never mad at you. I didn't mean for you to think I was."

Bret finally wrapped his arms around his father. "I'm really not tired of taking care of him, Pappy. I'm not."

Bret still sounded thoroughly miserable, and Beauregard hated it. Not a day went by that he didn't wish Belle was still with them, but it was times like this when he really missed her. He wasn't good with things like this. He didn't know how to make this better for Bret, which made him feel like a failure as a father. If only Belle were here. Then again, if Belle were still here Bret never would have felt the weight of taking care of his brother, which made Beau feel like an even bigger failure. He sighed; maybe he should have had Ben stay a while. It had taken Ben longer to take to the idea of being a daddy but when he had accepted it, it seemed to come more naturally to him.

Beau started to run his fingers through Bret's hair "You're a good brother, son. You've taken real good care of Bart since your mama died, and I'm proud of you for that; I know your mama would be too. But you never shoulda been doin' what you have been."

"Mama said I was supposed to take care of him."

"But she didn't mean you needed to do that much. She wanted you to watch out for him, try to keep him out of trouble, and I want you to do that too, but you been doin' more than a boy your age should be."

He paused to see if Bret had anything to say. When he didn't get a reply he continued. "Yes, you should look out for him, but you shouldn't feel that you have to take care of his every need all the time. I'm your father, Bret. That's my job. I uhhh I know I haven't been doing it very well lately, for either one of you. I'm sorry for that, and I want you to know that I'm gonna try to do better."

Bret still didn't reply, but Beauregard tried not to let it get to him. He just made a very long, emotional speech to his son, at least by his standards and that was a rarity for him. Bret had a lot to sort through, and he still wasn't well. Maybe it would be best to let him think about everything for a while. He stopped rubbing Bret's head and started to move his hand away, but Bret grabbed hold of it and held it tightly.

Beauregard wasn't much for open displays of affection; he never had been, even with his sons. There were times Bart would simply throw his arms around his pappy, leaving Beau little choice but to return the gesture in some way, but Bret didn't do things like that. Bret was more reserved in showing his affection – like his pappy – and had become even more so since Belle had died. Because of that, Beau was never sure how Bret would receive physical affection and had always held back a little with him. That didn't seem to be a problem at the moment, however. Giving Bret's hand a squeeze he resumed stroking his son's hair with his other hand, feeling both pleased and a little heartsick at how willingly, almost desperately, Bret leaned into his touch.

The next two or three minutes were silent until Bret finally spoke. "I was scared, Pappy."

Beau was surprised to hear Bret speak and the words were so quiet he wasn't sure he heard them right. "What?"

Bret pushed himself up and looked at his father. "I was scared. I thought he was gonna die." Beau was alarmed to see tears start to fill Bret's eyes. Bret didn't cry. Beau couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Bret cry. "I-I thought we was gonna lose him like we lost Mama."

Any reservations about emotions and displays of affections that Beauregard still had crumbled as a lone tear ran down Bret's cheek. Grabbing his son, Beau wrapped him in a hug as a sob finally escaped Bret. "It's all right, son. He's gonna be fine," he crooned as he held Bret. He knew how his boy felt, he had battled those same thoughts for the first few days too, and then Bret's fever had started. Oh, yes, he knew exactly how Bret felt.

Bret didn't say another word but his sobs continued for the next couple of minutes. Beauregard would never admit it, but his own eyes teared up a time or two as his son let all his pain and fear and frustration out. It wasn't long before the sobs became silent tears and hitching breaths, and soon the breaths began to even out. When Bret finally pulled back Beau had a handle on his own emotions as well.

"Better?" he asked wiping the last traces of tears off Bret's cheeks. Bret only nodded. "He is gonna be fine, Bret. Two or three more days he'll probably be up and around too."

"Really?"

Beauregard nodded. "I'd bet on it. And you know his gettin' sick had nothing to do with anything you said or did, right?" Bret still looked skeptical. Beau looked his son in the eyes. "Bret, have I ever lied to you?"

The answer was immediate. "No, sir."

"And I'm not lying about this. You didn't do anything wrong. Alright?"

That assurance got a slight smile out of Bret and he nodded. "Alright."

"Good. Now, you feel up to talkin' anymore or do you want to rest?"

"What do you wanna talk about?" Bret sounded unsure, but to Beau's relief, the fear was gone.

Beau sighed. He didn't want to talk about anything, but he'd come this far, there was no sense in leaving the job half done. And he had promised Ben. "You tried to tell me about school once, and I didn't really let you. I'd like to hear about it now."

Bret seemed to perk up. "Really?"

"Yeah. Your Uncle Ben's told me a lot about what you told him, but I'd like to hear it from you. I want you to tell me everything about school and the chores and Bart, and anything else you want to tell me."

That got a real smile out of his son, a full-blown Bret Maverick grin, and Beau couldn't help but smile back. It had been too long since that smile had been on Bret's face, and Beau would listen to anything Bret had to say to keep it there.

XXXXXXX

Bret had been fully expecting a long, stern lecture when Pappy had said he wanted to talk. He hadn't expected Pappy to tell him he was proud of him, or offer to let Bret talk about whatever he wanted to. Pappy hadn't sat down and really listened to him since before Mama had died. So, when the offer was made, Bret jumped on it, especially now that he knew Pappy wasn't mad at him.

The one topic Bret was most interested in was the one Pappy didn't seem to want to talk about; school. The very mention of school had put a knot in Bret's stomach since Miss Potter had sent home the note. Bret wanted to say something about Pappy not meeting with the teacher, but he couldn't do that, not without revealing to Pappy that he had both read the note, and listened in on Pappy and Uncle Ben's conversation. Pappy may not have been mad about what he'd said concerning Bart, but Bret didn't think his father would be very understanding about sneaking around like that. He decided to be a little sneaky about it instead.

"Did you ever write back to Miss Potter?" he asked innocently after telling Pappy how much it displeased his teacher that they were always late.

Pappy cocked an eyebrow. "Was I suppose to?"

Bret shrugged, hoping he didn't look guilty. He did feel bad about both reading Pappy's note and eavesdropping. "She asked me the next day if you said anything about it."

"Did she?"

Bret nodded. "I think she was kinda expectin' it." Pappy rolled his eyes and Bret sighed, that wasn't encouraging.

"I shouldn't have done that," Pappy said suddenly. "I know this is important to you." Pappy then sighed himself. "Bret, do you think it will make a difference for me to reply to her?"

Bret brightened some at Pappy's sort of apology. "Maybe. I think she'd like it better if we were on time. I do try, Pappy. Really."

"But you can't because of Bart?"

Bret was torn, he didn't want to get Bart in trouble, but it was Bart's fault. "He just won't get up. And when he does get up, he moves so slow I have to fuss at him all the way to school."

"Does he ever help you with the chores?"

Bret looked over at his brother. It just didn't feel right to talk about Bart while he was sick.

"I'm not gonna say anythin' to him till he's better," Pappy added.

"Every once in a while."

"And that's how often?"

"Once a week or so," Bret admitted hesitantly, even that was being generous.

Pappy also looked over at their invalid and shook his head, before turning back to Bret. "Bret, things are gonna change a little bit once Bart's back on his feet."

Bret knew that tone and he grimaced. "I don't want him to be in trouble . . . ."

"I'm not just talkin' 'bout Bart, but don't worry about him. He ain't gonna receive any permanent damage, and I'm not doin' any talkin' till he's better."

Bret wasn't sure what Pappy had in mind but he still didn't want his brother to get in trouble. "You ain't gonna whip him, are you?"

"No. If that's what you're worried about, don't. Alright?"

"Okay."

"Anything else you wanna talk about?" Pappy asked after a long silence.

Bret actually felt better than he had in a long time. He was glad Pappy was acting more like himself, and he believed him when he said things would change. Bret just hoped the changes lasted. "No, but we could play poker. If you want to."

Pappy smiled. "You're not tired?"

"Not too tired for poker," Bret answered with a grin.

Pappy laughed. He picked up the cards Bret had been playing with earlier and passed them over. "Your deal, Master Maverick."


	22. School Teachers and Red Dog

Beauregard stood in front of the mirror in his room and straightened his tie before smoothing the invisible wrinkles out of his vest. He'd been antsy to get back to town, but he hadn't planned on the trip being quite like the one he was about to make. It had been over two weeks since he'd played a game of poker, and he was more than ready for things to get back to normal. He needed to play poker for his mental well-being; he needed to play with someone besides Ben for his financial well-being. However, for the moment, it didn't matter how badly Beauregard wanted or needed a decent game of cards. This trip took precedence over poker and realistically Beau had to admit to himself that poker would likely have to wait a couple more days.

He had been partially right in his estimation of how long it would take for Bart to get on his feet. It had been just a couple of days after his talk with Bret that Bart was feeling well enough to get up, and having his brother out of bed had done wonders for Bret's mood. Being able to be with Bret again seemed to be helping the youngest Maverick too. He still tired easily, and he didn't feel like doing much, but that Bart Maverick gleam was coming back to his eyes. Seeing that spark come back had been a welcome sight for the Mavericks and almost as welcome was the end of Doctor Jennings daily visits. The last time he'd been over Doc had declared there was nothing else he could do to help Bart. Bart had made it through the worst and the only thing for him to do now was to rest and get his strength back.

As glad as Beauregard had been to have his boys back on the road to normal, having them out of the woods, and out of the bed, had meant the start of the real work, namely cleaning the house. Doc had recommended the entire house be cleaned to be on the safe side, with special care given to the boys' room. As much as Beau had hated the thought, he'd been willing to do anything to keep from having a repeat of the sickness, even if it meant scrubbing his house top to bottom, and that's what had happened. The last four days had found Beauregard and Ben washing every room and most of the furniture down with ammonia. Anything that hadn't been able to be cleaned that way had been washed in boiling water, and if that hadn't been an option it had been burned. Given that Belle had made most of the quilts and window dressings in the house there hadn't been much Beau or the boys had been willing to burn and Beauregard had found himself more grateful than he could say for Ben's housekeeper and her willingness to do the washing. Lots of washing.

Those days had been long ones, and Beauregard wasn't sure the smell of ammonia would ever leave him, but last night the Maverick men had finished the daunting task. They had whitewashed the boys' bedroom – another precaution recommended by Doc – and moved the furniture back in. For Beauregard, it had been a sign that things were very close to getting back to normal, and then Ben had opened his big mouth. With the tension of the Scarlatina mostly gone, the conversation that had filled the Maverick brothers' days of cleaning had been lighthearted and trivial. Then last night after they had gotten Bret's bed back in place, Ben had brought up a topic that was anything but; Miss Potter and that note. Beauregard had listened, albeit begrudgingly, to what Ben had to say. He hadn't liked it but by the end of a slightly heated discussion, had conceded that he needed to talk to the . . . woman. So here he was, making his first trip to town in more than two weeks, and not to play poker, but to go talk to a school teacher, a stuffy, city-bred, Yankee school teacher.

Making an unnecessary adjustment to the ruffles on his shirt, Beau slipped on his jacket. Ben would probably think the ruffled shirt was too much, but Beau didn't care. He was a poker player, and that's all he'd ever been. He didn't need Martha Potter's permission or approval to be what he was, and he wasn't going to pussyfoot around her by dressing any way other than the way he did every day. After all, he wasn't doing this for her; he was doing it for Bret. That was the only reason he was doing it, and he'd made sure Ben was well aware of it.

Scarlatina hadn't hit Little Bend as badly as everyone had feared. Bret had been the last one to contract it, and with him and Bart, as well as Adam Morgan on the mend, it didn't appear that there would be any more trouble with the sickness. In light of that, the decision was made that school would start again the beginning of next week. So while meeting with Miss Potter was the last way Beauregard wanted to spend his afternoon, he wanted to get it over with before Bret had to face her again on Monday morning. It was certain to be an unpleasant afternoon, but his boy was worth it.

Giving himself a final once over, and finding no other reason to delay, Beauregard picked up his hat and walked towards the front room. The boys were on the sofa, Bart wrapped in a quilt, playing cards, and Beauregard paused for a moment at the edge of the room to watch them; it did his heart good to see them both looking more like themselves. Beau chuckled some to himself as he stood there. Yeah, he'd fought Ben's suggestion last night, and he'd probably grouse at Ben on the ride into town, but after living through the last two weeks, he was just thankful he still had a reason to meet with the woman.

" _Can you see them, Belle?"_ he thought. " _I know it's not what you wanted, but I don't think even you could make them stop playing poker. They got too much Maverick in their blood for them to be any other way."_

"What are y'all doin'?" he asked aloud making his presence known.

They both froze before jerking their heads around to look at him, guilt plainly written on their faces. His smile faded. He had thought they'd just been playing cards, now he was wondering what they'd actually been up to. His mind immediately ran through a list of breakables in the house and he wondered what he'd find missing later. It had to be something like that; Bart wasn't feeling well enough for too much else yet.

"Just playin' cards," Bret answered.

"We weren't playin' nothin'," Bart said at the same time.

Walking over to the sofa he gave them both a look. "So you're playin' cards," he said to Bret. "And you're not playin' nothin'," he added looking to Bart. "What's goin' on?"

"Nothin'," they answered in unison; then Bart gave him the puppy-dog eyes.

Beauregard had to fight to keep the smile off his face when Bart turned those eyes on him. Bart giving that look was a sure sign he was almost well. It also meant he was well enough to get into mischief, and Beauregard wanted to know exactly what it had been. He'd be lying to say those eyes didn't have an effect on him, they did more often than he cared to admit, but the problem with the puppy-dog eyes was that Pappy responded much better to them when he wasn't expecting them. He'd seen this look coming from a mile away. Still, he wasn't completely immune and he had to keep looking between the two of them to keep them from getting the best of him.

His gaze finally settling on Bret. Neither of the boys could lie to him, but Bret was particularly bad at it. "Bret, what did you do?"

"We didn't do anythin'. We've been playin' cards since Bart got up. Ain't we?"

Bart nodded. "Yep. And we're not playin' Red Dog."

"Bart!"

At his brother's admonishment, Bart clapped a hand over his mouth. The puppy-dog look vanished as his eyes widened.

"Red Dog?" Beau again looked between his boys. "That's what you didn't want to tell me? That you're playin' Red Dog?"

"You said it's gamblin'," Bret reminded him. "You told us not to gamble."

"It is gamblin'," he said no longer able to keep the smile from his face. This was how life was supposed to be, and he was so thankful to have it back he couldn't even be mad that the boys had been doing something they thought was wrong. "And that's why only a fool puts money on it. Play it among yourselves if you want to, just don't ever put real money on a hand of it. Who taught you to play that anyway?"

"Uncle Ben."

Beau scoffed, he should have known. Like himself, Ben was adamant about the fact that playing poker wasn't gambling. Poker was a science and if a man played it right, there was rarely any gambling involved. Unlike Beauregard, Ben would gamble on occasion. There had been a few times in their younger days when Ben had gotten downright reckless with it; a practice Beauregard had never understood or condoned.

"Speaking of Uncle Ben, he's bringing Beau over soon. We need to go to town for a while. Will the three of you be alright by yourselves?"

"Yep," Bret said and Bart nodded.

"Alright. I'm gonna go saddle my horse. I'll let you know before I leave." Leaving the boys to their, as Beauregard saw it, childish game, he went out to get saddled up and wait for Ben.

By the time he'd gotten saddled and led his horse out front, Ben was coming down the road with Beau. When Ben stopped, Beauregard helped his nephew off the horse and waited until his namesake was in the house before he turned to his brother. "What are you doin' teaching my boys stupid games?"

"What?" Ben asked as he dismounted.

"I just left my boys inside playing Red Dog. They didn't learn that from me."

Ben laughed at the disgruntled look on his brother's face. "Just tryin' to broaden their horizons."

"Corruptin' them more like it."

"Relax, big brother. I'll do everythin' in my power to make sure they never lose their respect for proper poker," Ben said walking into the house himself.

"Kids are the only ones who should play," Beau grumbled as he followed. "Shouldn't even be counted as a real game."

When the older Maverick's returned to the parlor, the boys had abandoned Red Dog and Bret was dealing out a respectable hand of five card draw. "We're fixin' to leave," Beauregard said.

Bart looked up. "Where you goin'?"

Beauregard was relieved to hear Bart didn't sound apprehensive, just curious. "There's somethin' in town we need to take care of."

"Poker?"

Beauregard squatted by his youngest. "No, not poker. Just some business me and your uncle Ben need to see to. We should be back in two or three hours, alright?"

"Okay."

Beauregard ruffled his son's hair, pleased that Bart seemed to be okay with him leaving for a while. "Y'all be good and listen to Bret. We'll be back in a bit."

Standing, Beauregard picked up his hat and tapped Ben on the arm with it. "Come on. I'd just as soon get this over with."

Ben followed him outside where they mounted up and started for Little Bend.

Beauregard didn't say much on the ride into town, but Ben made up for it. The entire first half of the ride Ben kept telling him to be polite, to not snap at the poor girl, to remember she was just doing her job, until Beau had had enough.

"Good lord, Ben. What do you think I'm gonna do?"

Ben almost looked surprised at the question. "I don't know. That's why I'm trying to cover everything."

Beau rolled his eyes. He knew he had a temper at times, but he wasn't that bad. Was he? He turned toward his brother with a smirk. "Well, don't worry. I won't call her a bat to her face."

"Beauregard, this is serious."

"Oh, I know it is."

"It's serious for Bret."

The reprimand had some effect. Beau sighed and looked over at his brother. "I know it is. And I promise I'll behave."

"Maybe you could do a little more than that."

"What that's supposed to mean?"

"You might get a little farther with young Miss Potter if you tried some of the Maverick charm on her. You know, you can be real charmin' when you take the notion to be? And it's been a while since you've taken the notion."

The last remark subdued Beauregard a bit more. Yes, it had been a while. There hadn't been anyone after he'd met Belle. Since losing her there hadn't been the desire for anyone else. "There hasn't been anyone worth bein' charmin' for in a while."

"I understand. But there was a time any female was worth it, why don't you try to remember those days and see what you can do? For Bret."

Beauregard looked over, cocking an eyebrow. "For Bret huh?"

Ben's reply was a smile and a shrug.

"I'll behave," Beauregard reiterated. "That's the only thing I can promise."

"Then I guess that'll have to do."

XXXXXXX

"Where do you reckon they're goin'?" Beau was the one who voiced the question, but they had all been thinking it. The three young Mavericks had been trying to puzzle out exactly what business had to be seen to since the adults had left; they had yet to come up with anything that sounded plausible.

Bret shrugged. "I can't think of anything. Pappy don't have 'business' in town; except for poker."

"You sure it's not poker?" Bart asked.

"If Pappy said it wasn't poker, then it's not poker." For the life of him, Bret didn't know what it could be, but he was certain it wasn't about poker.

"Maybe its cattle," Beau said. "You think they'd try that again?"

Bart was shaking his head almost before Beau finished his question. "Pappy said he wasn't never gonna mess with those stupid animals again."

"You're probably right," Beau conceded.

Bret was inclined to agree. He'd heard Pappy had tried to keep cattle on the ranch when he and Mama had first bought it, but everything had been sold off after a couple of years. Then the summer before Mama had gotten sick Pappy had bought the beginnings of another herd. Mama had wanted him to try, and Pappy had agreed. That attempt at real ranching had been extremely short lived. All those cows had been gone before Mama had gotten the fever, and as the herd was being moved from the Maverick's land, Pappy had sworn he was absolutely through with the cattle business.

Once the boys had determined it was unlikely the Maverick men were in town buying cattle, they continued with their game. They had been together the last few days while Uncle Ben had helped Pappy clean the house, but the long days of separation were still fresh enough in their minds so they enjoyed being able to play again. The games were especially good now that Bart was feeling well enough to join in again. Playing against just Beau wasn't as good as playing against Beau and Bart, and Bret was enjoying being able to be all together again.

The game continued quietly for several hands until Beau suddenly gasped. "Do you think they got a woman in town?"

"No," Bret cried looking at his cousin sharply. "Pappy wouldn't do that."

"Is Pappy gonna get married again?"

Bret looked to his obviously worried brother. "No, Pappy's not gettin' married." He turned to Beau. "And he don't have a woman."

"Well, where did they go?"

"I don't know, but it ain't a woman. Uncle Ben wouldn't have gone with him for that."

"Well, maybe Pa's got a woman too."

Everyone fell silent. Bart looked worried, Beau deep in thought, and Bret just wished the whole conversation would stop. He was fairly certain Beau was wrong about Pappy meeting a woman, but there was always a chance he was right, and Bret didn't want to think abut that. "Look," he said after a moment. "If Pappy wanted us to know where he was goin' he would have told us. But he didn't, so why don't we just play poker and forget about it."

His brother and his younger cousin looked at each other and then at him. "Okay," Beau said. Bart nodded his agreement.

"But I still wanna know where they're goin'," Beau added.

"So do I, but I don't think we're gonna figure it out now. So, let's just play and see if they tell us somethin' when they get back." Bret said as he gathered up the cards. "If they don't, maybe we can pick up some hints."

"Maybe so," Beau said brightening some at the thought.

Bret had the cards all together again and passed them over to Bart to deal. Bart stared at the cards before looking to Bret. His eyes then went to Beau and back to Bret, a sly grin coming to his face. "Hey, Bret."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think since it's just us we could play Red Dog?"

Bret returned the grin. "If you don't tell Pappy."


	23. The Meeting

Beauregard sighed heavily as he rode into the school yard, earning him a look from his brother. "I said I'd be nice," he reminded Ben.

"And I said try for charmin'. You're a Maverick, Beauregard. How often can a Maverick say they can't sweet talk a woman?"

"Any time they didn't want to sweet talk a woman."

A sigh just as heavy as Beauregard's previous one came from Ben. "Beau, she's from a different world. No, she's not Lily Evans who's lived in Little Bend her whole life, and no, she doesn't understand our way of doing . . . business. I know she's got kind of a dim view of us so go in there and do something to prove her wrong."

Beauregard regarded his brother with a scowl on his face. He hadn't liked it when the woman had come in and immediately started trying to change things to the way they were done in Boston, and his dislike had only grown when he'd seen the look of horror on her face when he told her he earned his living by playing poker. Ben was right, though, since first meeting her Beauregard hadn't done anything to prove he wasn't an irresponsible, shiftless, gambler. He may have been exactly that at one time, but things had changed and he did care about his boys, more than anything, including poker.

"I'll behave, and I'll see what I can do about the charm."

Ben nodded as he tied his horse. He didn't offer any other advice knowing better than to push for anything else.

Ben knocked on the door of the schoolhouse as he opened it, Beau following behind him. The young teacher had been at her desk but stood when she saw the two men; her expression a mixture of surprise and apprehension. The look was quickly covered up, however, and she was once again the prim and proper schoolmarm. "Mr. Maverick," she said offering Ben a smile. She then turned to Beau. "And Mr. Maverick." The smile was still in place, but it now seemed forced.

"I hope this isn't a bad time," Ben said.

"Not at all. I appreciate you both taking the time to come and meet with me."

Ben flashed her a Maverick grin while Beauregard took a long look at the woman in front of him, if one wanted to call her a woman. She was little more than a girl; not a day over twenty if she was that old, but she was a pretty thing. A little taller than most women with gray eyes and chestnut colored hair. Her hair and clothing did nothing to enhance her natural beauty, however. The styles were almost too conservative. Beauregard wondered if everyone in Boston dressed that way, or if anyone had ever told her she could still look like a lady without looking like an eighty-year-old dowager.

While Beau stood there and studied the woman, Ben continued the conversation, his signature grin firmly in place. "I apologize it's taken so long. We've been . . . otherwise engaged."

"I understand. How are the boys faring?"

"They're just fine. Bret and Beau will be here Monday. We're not sure about Bart yet."

"I heard he had a hard time with it. I was glad to hear Doctor Jennings say he was recovering."

"It was a relief to everyone."

Beauregard cleared his throat. "Unless I'm mistaken we didn't come to discuss my children's health." He noticed Miss Potter's eyes widen some at the statement and Ben sent him a subtle glare. Beau ignored both. If Ben wanted to chit chat with the young woman he could do it on his own time; Beau was ready to get this meeting over with.

The teacher soon had that forced smile back in place. "You're correct, Mr. Maverick. Won't you sit down?"

She motioned towards the students' desks before going back to her own. Beau sent his brother a look. Did the woman expect them to sit down in front of her like school boys? He was about to say something when Ben pushed him forward, giving him a jab in the ribs as he did so. Beau stifled a grunt and intensified his glare.

"Sit," Ben mouthed.

Beau rolled his eyes as he sat on one of the seats in front reminding himself that this was for Bret. Ben took the seat next to him.

Miss Potter sat down at her desk and gave the Maverick men her attention. She either hadn't noticed their fuss or she was choosing not to acknowledge it. "Again, Mr. Maverick, I'd like to thank you for coming to see me. You received my note?"

"Yes, Miss Potter, I did. However, I quite frankly fail to see the problem."

The young woman looked taken aback. "I believe I stated my concerns quite plainly. The boys have made a habit of coming in late. They often miss a good portion of their first lesson."

"Is this hurting them? Are either one of them having trouble keeping up?" The tone was abrupt, but the questions were asked in all seriousness. Neither Bret nor Bart had ever mentioned having problems, and Miss Evens had never said anything. "I don't recall that being mentioned in your letter."

"It –it wasn't, specifically. Neither has had any trouble as yet, but I'm afraid if this continues it will become a problem."

"Then they're both doing well?"

"Well, yes. As a matter of fact, they are both very bright. Bartley's reading is better than anyone else his age and Bret has quite a head for numbers and arithmetic."

"It's a family trait," Beau replied unable to keep the smirk off his face. "Bret's always been quick with numbers." He wondered if it had occurred to the woman part of the reason Bret's grasp of figures was so strong was because he'd been exposed to poker since before he could even hold a hand of cards.

The woman obviously caught his meaning because her face darkened ever so slightly. "There are other lessons besides reading and arithmetic, however."

"If they're not having issues with their lessons, I'm afraid I still don't see the problem." As long as they were keeping up, was it really so terrible the boys were a little late most days?

"Very well, Mr. Maverick, if you're not concerned with your own children's education, perhaps you might take the other students into consideration. It's disruptive when the boys come in late. Particularly when I've already begun teaching.

"I am concerned with my children's education, hence their presence in school at all," Beau shot back, a pronounced edge in his voice.

"I understand things happen, and I can overlook the occasional incident, but this is an almost daily occurrence. I'm afraid I can't allow it to continue."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"It means I would hate to have to start taking disciplinary measures against the boys."

Beauregard stared at the teacher incredulously, hardly believing the threat had even been made. "Are you telling me you would punish the boys for being late?"

"Habitually late. I have rules for this classroom, Mr. Maverick. As a teacher, I can't play favorites and make special allowances for only two or three students, no matter how fond I am of those students. Not when it's a problem I feel could easily be corrected."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." A problem I feel could easily be corrected she had said. The threat had been more aimed at him than the boys he realized, and he was angry.

"Then perhaps a little cooperation from you could . . . ." The young Bostonian stopped. Her voice had started to rise as well. She dropped her eyes and seemed to take a moment to compose herself.

As soon as she was no longer looking at him Beauregard felt a slap on his arm. He looked over to find Ben staring a hole through him. "What's happened to behaving?" he hissed quietly.

Beau scowled; things hadn't gone the way he'd intended for them to. Young Miss Potter was a bit more formidable than he'd anticipated.

"Charmin'," Ben reminded him. "Cordial at the very least."

Before Beauregard could reply the young woman spoke again, her tone somewhat chagrined. "Forgive me, Mr. Maverick. I had no right a raise my voice."

Beauregard's attention went back to the teacher. "I was behaving in a less than . . . cordial manner myself." Beauregard would admit it, he'd walked in with an attitude. He'd come expecting a fight; he didn't suppose he could fault the girl for rising to the occasion. It wasn't as though he'd been terrible polite himself.

Miss Potter sighed. "You were widowed not very long ago, Mr. Maverick?"

"Yes," Beau replied noticing that the woman's own demeanor had changed some. She again looked confident, but she was more subdued.

"I understand things must be difficult for you, but I'm very concerned about Bret. He seems to be disturbed by all this."

Beauregard couldn't argue that. "I have talked to him about it."

The woman seemed to consider her next words and Beau sensed her hesitation. "I can tell Bret takes looking after his brother and cousin very seriously, and I believe he does try to abide by the rules. I was hoping there was something that could be done at home to help him. Bret has told me . . . he's told me . . . ."

Beau glanced at his brother and decided to take pity on the woman. "Miss Potter, as I said, I have talked to Bret about this. I understand there are some things that could be done differently, and I do plan on some things changing. I think when the boys return, you'll notice a difference."

Again the teacher seemed caught off guard, but this time, she smiled. "I would appreciate that, Mr. Maverick. I really am fond of the boys, and poor Bret seems on edge all the time. I think some changes would be good for him." She then turned to Ben. "Can I assume these changes will include Beau as well?"

Ben chuckled. "Yes, ma'am. We hope the Mavericks will give you a little less trouble from here on out."

She let out a small laugh then. "They aren't any trouble. As I said, I am quite fond of them, and frankly," she looked to Beauregard, "I wouldn't have been able to punish them. Not when I can see how hard Bret tries to keep things in order."

"He does do that," Beauregard agreed. "Does it pretty well most of the time too."

"I can see that he does."

Beauregard cleared his throat. "If that's all, Miss Potter, we'll let you continue with your work."

"Of course," she said standing as the Mavericks did. She walked around her desk. "Thank you again, for coming in. I truly do appreciate it." She offered her hand to Beauregard.

Maverick thought only half a second before taking her hand and gently kissing it.

She had obviously expected him to shake her hand because she seemed surprised by the kiss. "Thank you, Mr. Maverick," she said again.

Beauregard smiled. "You're quite welcome, Miss Potter." When the girl wasn't trying to act as authoritative as a man, she could be pleasant. He was even willing to say she was indeed an attractive young lady. If she would stop dressing like an old woman, and maybe find her a good man to straighten her out, she'd probably be quite charming herself. On the other hand, he could also find a measure of pity for the man who found her.

Ben followed his brother's lead by kissing the teacher's hand, again to the surprise of Miss Potter. A blush even came to her cheeks this time.

"Please tell the boys I'm glad to hear they've recovered and I look forward to seeing them soon."

"Yes, Ma'am," Ben replied before both he and Beau tipped their hats and walked outside.

Beau blew out a breath once they were out of the confines of the school. Even with the tense beginning, the meeting had gone better than he expected. He was still glad it was over, though.

"See," Ben said throwing his arm around his brother's shoulders. "That wasn't so hard was it?"

"Wasn't after she stopped actin' like a . . . . "

"Beauregard. You had your moment too."

Beau looked to Ben and grinned, but a shrug was his only reply. Perhaps he'd misjudged the teacher somewhat. He still thought she could use a lesson on how things in a small Texas town were different from Boston, but this meeting had gone better than his first or second encounter with her had.

"I did tell you a little charm would go a long way, though, didn't I?" Ben continued. "She seemed quite taken with you at the end."

There was a gleam in Ben's eye Beau didn't care for. Beau gave his brother one of his looks before shoving him in the shoulder. "Let's just go home."

XXXXXXX

It was almost dark when they returned to the ranch. Bret and Beau were still playing cards but Bart had since given up and was now curled up in Beauregard's chair asleep.

"How long he's been like that?" Beauregard asked after Ben and Beau had left for home.

Bret shrugged. "Not too long. He played with us most of the time."

"I'm gonna take him to bed. When I come back we'll play a couple of games, okay?"

"Okay," Bret agreed, not seeming as enthused about the prospect as he normally did.

After tucking in his youngest, Beauregard returned to Bret who was sitting on the couch idly riffling through the cards. He looked up when Beauregard sat down and silently passed the cards over.

After giving the cards a quick shuffle, Beauregard passed them back for Bret to cut. "Your pick."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

A touch of mischief came to Bret's eyes. "Even Red Dog?"

Beauregard raised an eyebrow but smiled. "Is that what you wanna play?"

Bret shook his head. "Nah, that Bart's game."

"Should've known."

"You're not mad at him, are you?"

Seeing Bret's worried look, Beauregard quickly reassured him. "No, I'm not mad. Sometimes your brother acts a little more reckless than you. When it comes to cards, he's like your Uncle Ben. You're more serious about poker, kinda like me."

Bret positively beamed at that last statement, but he never gave an answer concerning his game of preference so Beauregard started dealing for five card draw, his own preferred game.

They played in silence for a couple of minutes, and Beauregard enjoyed it. It had been some time since he'd really thought about how much he truly did enjoy playing poker with his boys. It was a pity it had taken something like Scarlatina to knock the sense back into him. The last couple of weeks had certainly brought things back into perspective for him. It had been a hard lesson, but Beauregard could now say he was grateful for it, not that he'd admit that to anyone.

As they sat there playing, Beau started to sense some apprehension in his son. It was unexpected as Bret had seemed so much more relaxed the last few days, and Beauregard wondered if the fact Bret would be going back to school in the next couple of days had something to do with it. He had debated with himself all the way home whether he should tell Bret about what he'd done in town today. He hadn't planned on it originally, but after having talked to Miss Potter, he felt differently. He knew it was important to Bret based on the what the boy had shared with him earlier, but after talking with the teacher he had a better understanding of exactly how much this situation had affected Bret.

"Me and your Uncle Ben went to see Miss Potter today," he said casually, deciding there wasn't any reason to not tell Bret about the meeting.

Bret froze and looked up at him. "You went to school?"

"Yeah."

"Was she happy?" Bret asked his brows furrowed. "That you met with her."

"I think she appreciated it." There was no reason to tell Bret how the meeting had started; the ending was the important part.

"What'd she say?"

Beauregard took his attention off his cards and focused on Bret. "Well, she said the three of you were late a lot, and that it needed to change."

"Pappy, I try . . . ."

"Shhhh, I know you do. And I told her the same thing I told you, things are gonna change some. I'm gonna talk to Bart, and he's gonna start getting up on time and helping you with the chores."

Bret sighed and dropped his eyes before nodding. Beauregard could tell Bret didn't quite believe what had just been said. "Bret." Beau waited until Bret looked up again. "I mean that."

Bret sighed again. "You said you weren't gonna whip him."

Beauregard cocked an eyebrow, slightly amused Bret assumed a whipping was the only thing that would get Bart's attention. "You think that's the only way I can reason with him?"

Bret looked at his father for a long moment before he sort of smiled. "I guess not."

"He's not in trouble, son. He just needs a good talkin' to."

The sort of smile finally became a real one. "Glad it's him and not me."

Beauregard laughed. "He'll be fine. By the way, Miss Potter said somethin' else while we were there today."

The anxiety came back to Bret's face. "She did?"

"Yeah. She said you try hard to take care of Bart and Beau. She also said you're really good at arithmetic."

A slow smile spread across Bret's face. "Really?"

"Really. I think she's proud of the work you do, and so am I."

A flush came to Bret's cheeks then. He looked down at his cards, then meet Beau's eyes again. "Thanks, Pappy."

"You're welcome, son." Beauregard held his son's gaze for a moment before he reached over and ruffled his hair. "You want to deal the next hand?"

"Yes, sir."


	24. New Beginning

"Wish you wasn't goin' to school tomorrow," Bart said a pout coming to his face.

"We gotta start back sometime, and that includes you."

It was Sunday night and both boys were currently in Bart's bed. They had forgone any poker tonight as Bret just wasn't in the mood. Instead, he'd gone over to his brother's bed to talk. It was something he felt like he hadn't been able to do in a long time and again he was grateful that Bart was still alive, and getting stronger every day.

Bart's pout immediately became a scowl. "When do ya think Pappy's goin' to make me go back?"

Bret shrugged not telling Bart he would likely be back in school next week. Pappy was only giving Bart more time at home because he still got tired quickly, but Bret couldn't imagine Pappy would let Bart lay out much longer. He wouldn't want Bart missing too many lessons, and Bret was pretty sure Pappy was itching to get back to his usual poker games too. Pappy had gone into town last night but he wouldn't be able to get back to his regular nightly games until Bart was back in school during the day.

"Are you ready to go back?" Bart asked.

Again Bret shrugged. Since finding out Pappy had met with his teacher he felt better about going back. School wasn't his favorite thing by any means, but he accepted it as something that was part of his life, for now anyway. Unlike Bart, he hadn't seriously tried to convince Pappy he'd already learned enough to quit school. Really, as long as he didn't have to worry about trouble with his teacher, school wasn't so bad. "I don't care. Least it's not too long until Christmas. We get another break then."

Bart looked at his brother like he'd lost his mind. "I guess," he mumbled. "What'd Pappy say 'bout Miss Potter?" Bart asked next, obviously not liking the fact Bret wasn't completely agreeing with him about how much education they actually needed.

"Not much. Just said he talked to her."

"Bout us being late?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what'd he say about it?"

"I don't know. He didn't tell me." Bret didn't tell his brother Pappy was planning on talking to him too, or that Pappy had said things were going to change. He did wonder if it was mean not to warn Bart he had a talking to coming, but he soon disregarded the feeling. Pappy had already said he wouldn't whip Bart, and if it really was just a talk, it wouldn't hurt Bart to be a little caught off guard. It wouldn't give him any time to work on looking innocent. Not that Bart needed a lot of time to be able to pull that look off.

Bret sighed. "I'm going to bed. I can't sleep all mornin' like you tomorrow." He thought he saw Bart kind of smirk, but it was quickly gone.

"Okay."

Bret got up to go back to his own bed but before he could walk away Bart grabbed his arm. "Bret?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're better."

Bret looked at his brother. Sure Bart could be a pain at times, but he was Bret's pain, and he would be lost without his little brother. Bret grinned. "I'm glad you're better too."

Bart returned the grin before rolling over and pulling his blanket up so it was almost covering his head.

Bret went to his own bed and burrowed down under the blankets. No, he wasn't excited about going back to school, he'd rather stay home and ride horses or play poker, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn't dreading it.

XXXXXXXX

"Bret. It's time to get up, son."

Bret opened his eyes and was surprised to see Pappy standing over him. "Up?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Yep. You don't want to be late for school."

Bret sat up. "What are you doin'?" he asked, confused by his father's presence and his mind still foggy with sleep.

Pappy chuckled. "Wakin' you up so you're not late for your first day back." He patted Bret's shoulder. "Come on. Get dressed. You can probably get your chores done while I make some breakfast."

Pappy left and Bret drug himself out of bed and started dressing. He was almost done before he fully realized what Pappy had said. Pappy was making breakfast? He hurriedly threw on a shirt and rushed downstairs to see for himself if he'd really heard Pappy right. When he got to the kitchen he was surprised to find Pappy was indeed starting a fire in the stove. Bret stood there, dumbfounded. He couldn't remember the last time Pappy had gotten up before he'd left for school. There were times Pappy hadn't gone to bed yet, but Pappy didn't look like he'd been up all night.

When Pappy heard him he turned around and smiled. "I've already done the milkin', but if you go ahead and take care of the chickens I can make some eggs while you feed the horses."

"All right," Bret said more confused than ever. Pappy was acting strange, getting up early, making breakfast, and milking the cow too. Pappy hated milking.

Still baffled Bret went out and fed the chickens before gathering the eggs. After taking them inside, he went back out and saw to the horses. By the time he was finished Pappy was almost done and Bret sat down at the table to wait.

Pappy brought over two plates of bacon and eggs, then a plate of biscuits. "They're still not great, but they're better than last time."

Bret almost smiled. Strictly in the interest of keeping his children from starving to death, Pappy had Uncle Ben's housekeeper try to teach him how to make a few things, one of those had been biscuits. The first few times, they hadn't even been edible, and they still lacked something to be desired, but he did seem to get a little better with each try.

Bret picked one up pleased to find it wasn't rock hard. He took an experimental bite and found it to be tough, but not too bad. "They are getting better," he told Pappy. "Maybe just a few more times."

Pappy laughed. "Sorry you're stuck with them, boy. But I appreciate the vote of confidence." Pappy got two biscuits for himself and the next few minutes were quiet while they ate.

Bret finally looked at his father. "Why are you doin' this?"

"What?"

Bret shrugged. "Wakin' up early and makin' breakfast, and milkin'."

Pappy stopped eating and looked him in the eye. "I told you things were gonna change, Bret. I meant that. Now I don't know all the particulars yet, but there's no call for you to be shoulderin' so much weight, and I'm not gonna let you do it anymore. Understand?"

Bret smiled. "Yes, sir."

Pappy smiled back. "Alright. If you're done eatin' run along and finish gettin' ready; your cousin will be here soon."

Bret pushed away from the table, pausing before he left the room. "Thanks, Pappy."

Pappy just smiled before he motioned towards the stairs. "Go on, now. Hurry up 'fore Beau gets here."

The first day back went well. Bret and Beau arrived on time for a change, and Miss Potter smiled when she saw them. She didn't say anything about Pappy, but she did share a knowing look with Bret when she came over to tell them she was glad to have them back. Before they left for the day, she reiterated the sentiment, this time, telling him to be sure he told Bart she was ready to see him again too. Bret politely told the teacher he would be sure to deliver her message and managed to do so with a straight face, even though he had to fight back a grin thinking about how Bart would receive the news. Beau just rushed out of the schoolhouse to keep Miss Potter from seeing the amusement on his face, but they both enjoyed a laugh about it on the way home.

The rest of the week went just as well as Monday. Pappy continued to get up and make breakfast, and Bret and Beau were on time every day. The week was comfortable and easy for Bret. The only issue was when he came home Thursday to find a sullen Bart and quiet Pappy. Neither said anything, but Bret had guessed their moods to be a result of Pappy's promised talk with Bart. Whatever Pappy had told Bart had definitely not been welcome news to the youngest Maverick. By the weekend, however, Bart was back to his old self and Bret was the one in the mood. It wasn't the weekend itself that Bret didn't like, he always enjoyed the days he didn't have to get up and go to school, but Bart would be starting school next week and Bret wasn't looking forward to that any more than Bart was. He had liked how easy things had been over the last five days, and he couldn't help but wonder how having to deal with Bart again would change things.

The day Bart was supposed to start back, Bret woke on his own. Getting out of bed he glanced over at Bart and sighed. He dreaded trying to get Bart up. He was quick to remember how close he had come to losing Bart, and how he'd felt when he thought that was going happen. Having Bart make him late was much better than not having Bart at all, but he'd still rather not be late.

After dressing Bret went over to Bart's bed. "Get up, Bart. You gotta go to school today."

Bart kind of groaned and burrowed down deeper into his blankets.

Bret sighed again. "Get up, Bart," he said again giving his brother a shank for good measure.

"I'm gettin' up," Bart finally snapped.

"You'd better," Bret mumbled although he couldn't help smiling a little. Bart sounded much healthier than the last time Bret had tried to wake him up for school.

When he got downstairs, Bret found Pappy in the kitchen and starting on breakfast. "Mornin'," he said with a smile when Bret walked in. "I was about to come wake you."

Bret returned the smile. "I'm up." He had come to enjoy the changes that were becoming part of the new routine and hoped Pappy stayed with it for a while. He also hoped Bart's attitude wasn't too sour this morning. Bret liked his breakfasts with Pappy and didn't want Bart to put a damper on Pappy's mood.

"Is Bart up?"

"I woke him."

"Is he up?"

"I don't think so," Bret admitted. He'd been hoping to get through this morning without any trouble. Maybe he should have threatened Bart with Pappy before he'd left their room.

The reaction Bret was anticipating from Pappy didn't come. Pappy didn't seem at all disturbed by what Bret told him and only nodded when he heard the news. "Go on and get started on your chores. The cow ain't been milked yet either."

"Okay." That was something new. Even as much as Pappy said he hated milking, he'd done the job every day last week. Bret wondered what the difference was now. He didn't dwell on it, though, just got his jacket and headed outside to get to work. Before he got to the door Pappy called to him. "Yeah?" Bret asked turning back around.

"Just start with the eggs like always. Bart can take care of the milkin'."

"But . . . ."

"He can do it."

Bret wasn't going to argue but he hoped Pappy knew what he was doing. If Pappy said Bart would do the milking, Bart would do the milking. A battle of wills would certainly end in Pappy's favor, but that didn't mean Bart couldn't put up a fight when he wanted to, and Bret really didn't want to be late today.

He gathered the eggs and took them back in, as he had every day last week. "Here's the eggs, Pappy," Bret said setting the basket on the table, noticing there was still no Bart in sight.

"Thank ya, son." Pappy then turned in the direction of the stairs and without any warning yelled. "Bartley Jamison you have three minutes to get down here or I'm coming up there!"

Bret jumped, startled by the sudden yell. Meanwhile Pappy calmly went over to the basket of eggs. Bret stared at his father a moment trying to process what had just happened. He started to say something when a thump above him made him turn his attention upwards. The thump was doubtless Bart jumping out of bed. Bret looked back at his father and found Pappy regarding him with a slight smile.

"You mind gettin' the horses fed while I finish up?" Pappy asked. "I'll send Bart out when he comes down.

Bret couldn't stop a smile of his own. There was no longer any doubt in his mind Bart was coming down, and soon. Bart wasn't stupid. He knew as well as Bret that if Pappy had to go upstairs, Bart wouldn't want him up there. "No, sir."

Bret went back out to take care of the horses but before he even got to the barn the house door slammed shut and Bart came running up beside him.

Bret looked over at his brother. Bart had obviously taken Pappy's warning about three minutes to heart. His shirt was only halfway tucked in, and only one suspender was pulled up, but he was up and definitely awake.

"Mornin'," Bret said.

Bart was trying to get his other suspender in place and pull on his jacket while he walked and only grunted in reply to Bret's greeting.

"Ready to do some milkin'?" It was an unnecessary jab and Bret knew it, but one he couldn't resist taking.

"Shut up, Bret," Bart mumbled as he finally succeeded in getting his jacket on.

Bret bit back a smile but didn't say anything else, deciding to take it easy on Bart since it was his first day with all this. That decision didn't stop him from enjoying all the grumbling Bart did under his breath while he took care of the milking. Any grumbling Bart had to do had better be done out here, Pappy wouldn't allow it inside.

By the time Bret was done taking care of the horses, Bart was almost done with the milking. He also appeared to be more awake and in a better mood. "You want me to carry the bucket in," Bret offered.

Bart looked up and almost smiled. "If you want to."

Bret picked up the bucket and slung his arm around his little brother. "Come on, let's go see what Pappy's got for breakfast."

XXXXXXX

Bart's first day back was uneventful but tiring, and Bret could tell by the time school was dismissed Bart was worn out. As a result, he was just as quiet during the walk home as he had been this morning. Bret had thought the silence this morning was Bart pouting; now he was wondering if Bart just wasn't still getting used to having to get up and go to school again. He had been really sick after all, and getting back on a schedule could be hard.

Bart stayed pretty quiet until Beau veered off to go to his house and it was just him and Bret again.

"Hey, Bret?" he finally asked.

"Yeah?"

"Is Pappy gonna do that every mornin'?"

"What?"

"Get up early and make breakfast and stuff."

"I hope so."

Bart sighed heavily. "I's afraid you was gonna say that."

"It's not so bad." After a week of school, Bret was almost used to getting up early again and knew in a couple of weeks Bart would be too. "Besides, it's kinda fun gettin' to eat with Pappy every mornin'."

Bart seemed to think about something for a minute and then asked, "Is Pappy gonna start playin' poker regular again soon?"

"Probably."

"Is he still gonna make breakfast and everything?" There was a hopeful note in Bart's voice now, and Bret assumed it was more hopeful that he wouldn't instead of hopeful that he would.

Bret thought a minute before he answered that one. Pappy had talked about what would happen when he started to go out again at night. He'd said he wasn't sure about the particulars but for Bret not to worry, he wouldn't let Bart slip into old habits. After the last week and especially today, Bret was inclined to believe him. "I hope so," he finally said again.

Another heavy sigh came from Bart. "I's afraid you was gonna say that too."


	25. Epilogue

**_Two weeks later_**

"Get up, Bart."

A groan came from Bart before he pushed the blankets down and sent Bret a glare.

Bret smiled in return. "Better get up before Pappy gets home." Bart's glare intensified but he rolled out of bed.

His grin growing, Bret went downstairs. Things were going better, even with Pappy starting to play poker again. Like Pappy had promised, they were sorting things out. Pappy didn't go to bed until after they left for school now, sometimes he fell asleep in the front room when he came home, but he always got up to make sure they were gone on time. Bret didn't have to worry about getting Bart up either. If Bart didn't get up when Bret called him, Pappy took care of it. The promise of that had made Bart much more cooperative the last couple of weeks.

Pappy was asleep in his chair when Bret got downstairs, but he stirred when he heard Bret. "Mornin'," he said stifling a yawn as he stood up.

"Mornin'," Bret answered pulling on his coat to ward off the morning chill.

"Bart up?"

"Supposed to be. Tell him when he gets up I'll take care of the milkin' today."

"Feelin' generous, huh?" Pappy asked with a smirk.

Bret shrugged. "I guess." Honestly, he didn't share Pappy and Bart's strong dislike for milking. He didn't enjoy it but it wasn't any worse than any of the other chores, and it would improve Bart's mood this morning if he didn't have to do it.

Pappy laughed. "Alright, I'll send him along when he gets up."

Bret was walking outside when he heard Pappy yell "Bart!"

"I'm up," Bart called back down sounding a little frantic. "I'm coming."

Bret smiled to himself as he shut the front door.

Once the chores were done and breakfast over, Bret and Bart were out the door before Beau even arrived. It wasn't too uncommon for that to happen now so the boys started towards Uncle Ben's house to meet up with Beau before heading to school. Bret thought part of the reason they often left early was so that Pappy could go to bed, but the reason didn't matter. The mornings were peaceful now, and they were almost always on time for school. They had been a few minutes late one day last week arriving just after Miss Potter had closed the door, but she hadn't said anything to any of them. Most days were like today, and they arrived before Miss Potter went out to ring the bell, which is what she was about to do when they walked through the door.

"Good morning, boys," she said as Bart and Beau hurried in.

They made their obligatory "good morning" reply as they scurried to get seats close to the potbellied stove.

"Good morning, Bret," she said to the eldest Maverick as he entered at a slower pace.

"Good mornin', Miss Potter," Bret answered trying to act a little more grown-up than his brother and his cousin.

Miss Potter didn't say anything else but held his gaze a moment before she smiled and patted his shoulder.

Bret returned the smile and sat down with a satisfied sigh. The last few weeks, things had been normal. At least as normal as anything had been since Mama died. Bret still missed his mother terribly and wished more than anything she was still with them. He was old enough to know that wasn't a possibility, though. This was their life now, and as long as they still had Pappy they would be okay. Especially since Pappy was acting more like Pappy than he had in a long while. If this was their new normal, Bret could live with it. The best part was, he was pretty sure both their new normal and the changes in Pappy were here to stay.

The End


End file.
